“Domini, I’ve borne something in silence. I haven’t spoken. I wanted to speak. I tried—but I did not. I bore my punishment—you don’t know, you’ll never know what I felt last—last night—when—I’ve borne that. But there’s one thing I can’t bear. I’ve lived a lie with you. My love for you overcame me. I fell. I have told you that I fell. Don’t—don’t because of that—don’t take away your heart from me entirely. Domini—Domini—don’t do that.”
She heard a sound of despair in his voice.
“Oh, Boris,” she said, “if you knew! There was only one moment when I fancied my heart was leaving you. It passed almost before it came, and now—”
“But,” he interrupted, “do you know—do you know that since—since I spoke, since I told you, you’ve—you’ve never touched me?”
“Yes, I know it,” she replied quietly.
Something told him to be silent then. Something told him to wait till the night came and the camp was pitched once more.
They rested at noon for several hours, as it was impossible to travel in the heat of the day. The camp started an hour before they did. Only Batouch remained behind to show them the way to Ain-la-Hammam, where they would pass the following night. When Batouch brought the horses he said:
“Does Madame know the meaning of Ain-la-Hammam?”
“No,” said Domini. “What is it?”
“Source des tourterelles,” replied Batouch. “I was there once with an English traveller.”