Those
three words, and the way they were spoken, gave him the man and what he
might be in a woman's life. Domini looked at her husband silently. It
seemed to her as if her heart were flooded with light, as if desolate
Mogar were the Garden of Eden before the angel came. When they spoke
again it was on some indifferent topic. But from that moment the meal
went more merrily. Androvsky seemed to lose his strange uneasiness. De
Trevignac met him more than half-way. Something of the gaiety round the
camp fire had entered into the tent. A chain of sympathy had been forged
between these three people. Possibly, a touch might break it, but for
the moment it seemed strong.
At the end of the dinner Domini got up.
"We have no formalities in the desert," she said. "But I'm going to
leave you together for a moment. Give Monsieur de Trevignac a cigar,
Boris. Coffee is coming directly."
She went out towards the camp fire. She wanted to leave the men together
to seal their good fellowship. Her husband's change from taciturnity to
cordiality had enchanted her. Happiness was dancing within her. She felt
gay as a child.
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