A second caravan of camels appeared, preceded
by some filthy men in rags, who cried, "Oosh! oosh!" to clear the way.
The immense man, brandishing his recovered certificates, plunged forward
to encounter them, shouting in Arabic, hustled them back, kicked them,
struck at the camels with a stick till those in front receded upon those
behind and the street was blocked by struggling beasts and resounded
with roaring snarls, the thud of wooden bales clashing together, and the
desperate protests of the camel-drivers, one of whom was sent rolling
into a noisome dust heap with his turban torn from his head.
"The inn! This is the inn! Madame will descend here. Madame will eat in
the garden. Monsieur Alphonse! Monsieur Alphonse! Here are clients
for _dejeuner_. I have brought them. Do not believe Mohammed. It is I
that--I will assist Madame to descend. I will----"
Domini was standing in a tiny cabaret before a row of absinthe bottles,
laughing, almost breathless. She scarcely knew how she had come there.
Looking back she saw Androvsky still sitting on his horse in the midst
of the clamouring mob. She went to the low doorway, but Mustapha barred
her exit.
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