She had
always been inclined to hate the propagandist since the tragedy in
her family. It was a pity Count Anteoni had not indulged his imp in a
different fashion. The beauty of the noon seemed spoiled.
"Forgive my malice," Count Anteoni said. "It was really a thing of
thistledown. Can it be going to do harm? I can scarcely think so."
"No, no."
She roused herself, with the instinct of a woman who has lived much
in the world, to conceal the vexation that, visible, would cause a
depression to stand in the natural place of cheerfulness.
"The desert is making me abominably natural," she thought.
At this moment the black figure of Father Roubier came out of the
shadows of the trees with Bous-Bous trotting importantly beside it.
"Ah, Father," said Count Anteoni, going to meet him, while Domini got
up from her chair, "it is good of you to come out in the sun to eat fish
with such a bad parishioner as I am. Your little companion is welcome."
He patted Bous-Bous, who took little notice of him.
"You know Miss Enfilden, I think?" continued the Count.
"Father Roubier and I meet every day," said Domini, smiling.
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