"I should find it there too," she answered. "There, perhaps, most of
all."
He looked at her with a gentle wonder. She did not explain that she was
no longer thinking of growth in Nature.
The _salle-a-manger_ stood at the end of a broad avenue of palms not far
from the villa. Two Arab servants were waiting on each side of the white
step that led into an ante-room filled with divans and coffee-tables.
Beyond was a lofty apartment with an arched roof, in the centre of
which was an oval table laid for breakfast, and decorated with masses of
trumpet-shaped scarlet flowers in silver vases. Behind each of the four
high-backed chairs stood an Arab motionless as a statue. Evidently the
Count's _fete_ was to be attended by a good deal of ceremony. Domini
felt sorry, though not for herself. She had been accustomed to ceremony
all her life, and noticed it, as a rule, almost as little as the air
she breathed. But she feared that to Androvsky it would be novel and
unpleasant. As they came into the shady room she saw him glance swiftly
at the walls covered with dark Persian hangings, at the servants in
their embroidered jackets, wide trousers, and snow-white turbans, at
the vivid flowers on the table, then at the tall windows, over which
flexible outside blinds, dull green in colour, were drawn; and it seemed
to her that he was feeling like a trapped animal, full of a fury of
uneasiness.
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