Her heart was full of vexation, almost of bitterness.
She felt angry with Count Anteoni, with Androvsky, with herself. She
almost felt angry with poor Father Roubier.
"Forgive me! do forgive me!" the Count whispered. "I meant no harm."
She forced herself to smile, but the silence behind them, where the two
men were following, oppressed her. If only Androvsky would speak! He had
not said one word since they were all together. Suddenly she turned her
head and said:
"Did you ever see such palms, Monsieur Androvsky? Aren't they
magnificent?"
Her voice was challenging, imperative. It commanded him to rouse
himself, to speak, as a touch of the lash commands a horse to quicken
his pace. Androvsky raised his head, which had been sunk on his breast
as he walked.
"Palms!" he said confusedly.
"Yes, they are wonderful."
"You care for trees?" asked the Count, following Domini's lead and
speaking with a definite intention to force a conversation.
"Yes, Monsieur, certainly."
"I have some wonderful fellows here. After _dejeuner_ you must let me
show them to you. I spent years in collecting my children and teaching
them to live rightly in the desert.
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