"
Batouch assumed an expression that was tragically submissive and turned
to go. Just then Suzanne appeared at the French window of her bedroom.
She started as she perceived the poet, who walked slowly past her to the
staircase, throwing his burnous back from his big shoulders, and stood
looking after him. Her eyes fixed themselves upon the section of bare
leg that was visible above his stockings white as the driven snow, and a
faintly sentimental expression mingled with their defiance and alarm.
Domini got up from her chair and leaned over the parapet. A streak
of yellow light from the doorway of the hotel lay upon the white road
below, and in a moment she saw two figures come out from beneath the
verandah and pause there. Hadj was one, the stranger was the other.
The stranger struck a match and tried to light a cigar, but failed. He
struck another match, and then another, but still the cigar would not
draw. Hadj looked at him with mischievous astonishment.
"If Monsieur will permit me--" he began.
But the stranger took the cigar hastily from his mouth and flung it
away.
"I don't want to smoke," Domini heard him say in French.
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