She watched them,
but she watched more closely, more eagerly, rather as a spy than as
a spectator, one who was watching them with an intentness, a still
passion, a fierce curiosity and a sort of almost helpless wonder such as
she had never seen before, and could never have found within herself to
put at the service of any human marvel.
Close to the top of the room on the right the stranger was sitting in
the midst of a mob of Arabs, whose flowing draperies almost concealed
his ugly European clothes. On the wall immediately behind him was a
brilliantly-coloured drawing of a fat Ouled Nail leering at a French
soldier, which made an unconventional background to his leaning figure
and sunburnt face, in which there seemed now to be both asceticism and
something so different and so powerful that it was likely, from moment
to moment, to drive out the asceticism and to achieve the loneliness of
all conquering things. This fighting expression made Domini think of a
picture she had once seen representing a pilgrim going through a dark
forest attended by his angel and his devil. The angel of the pilgrim
was a weak and almost childish figure, frail, bloodless, scarcely even
radiant, while the devil was lusty and bold, with a muscular body and a
sensual, aquiline face, which smiled craftily, looking at the pilgrim.
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