She held out her hand.
"Good-bye," she added.
He took her hand, then signed to his men to ride on. When they had
passed, saluting her, he let her hand go. He had not spoken a word. His
face, burned scarlet by the sun, had a look of exhaustion on it, but
also another look--of horror, she thought, as if in his soul he was
recoiling from her. His inflamed blue eyes watched her, as if in a
search that was intense. She stood beside the mule in amazement. She
could hardly believe that this was the man who had thanked her, with
tears in his eyes, for her hospitality the night before. "Good-bye,"
he said, speaking at last, coldly. She saw him glance at the tent from
which she had come. The horror in his face surely deepened. "Goodbye,
Madame," he repeated. "Thank you for your hospitality." He pulled up the
rein to ride on. The mule moved a step or two. Then suddenly he checked
it and turned in the saddle. "Madame!" he said. "Madame!"
She came up to him. It seemed to her that he was going to say something
of tremendous importance to her. His lips, blistered by the sun, opened
to speak. But he only looked again towards the tent in which Androvsky
was still sleeping, then at her.
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