She frowned till her
thick eyebrows nearly met and the corners of her lips turned down. Then
she followed slowly. When she was on the stairs and the footsteps died
away below her she fully realised that for the first time in her life a
man had insulted her. Her face felt suddenly very hot, and her lips very
dry, and she longed to use her physical strength in a way not wholly
feminine. In the hall, among the shrouded furniture, she met the smiling
doorkeeper. She stopped.
"Did the gentleman who has just gone out give you his card?" she said
abruptly.
The Arab assumed a fawning, servile expression.
"No, Madame, but he is a very good gentleman, and I know well that
Monsieur the Count--"
Domini cut him short.
"Of what nationality is he?"
"Monsieur the Count, Madame?"
"No, no."
"The gentleman? I do not know. But he can speak Arabic. Oh, he is a very
nice--"
"Bon soir," said Domini, giving him a franc.
When she was out on the road in front of the hotel she saw the stranger
striding along in the distance at the tail of the negro procession. The
dust stirred up by the dancers whirled about him.
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