"
"Yes. I will get a rug." He went to fetch it, threw it over his arm, and
they set out together. She had meant the Arab cemetery, but when they
reached it they found two or three nomads wandering there.
"Let us go on," she said.
They went on, and came to the French cemetery, which was surrounded by
a rough hedge of brushwood, in which there were gaps here and there.
Through one of these gaps they entered it, spread out the rug, and lay
down on the sand. The night was still and silence brooded here. Faintly
they saw the graves of the exiles who had died here and been given to
the sand, where in summer vipers glided to and fro, and the pariah dogs
wandered stealthily, seeking food to still the desires in their starving
bodies. They were mostly very simple, but close to Domini and Androvsky
was one of white marble, in the form of a broken column, hung with
wreaths of everlasting flowers, and engraved with these words:
ICI REPOSE
JEAN BAPTISTE FABRIANI
_Priez pour lui_.
When they lay down they both looked at this grave, as if moved by a
simultaneous impulse, and read the words.
"Priez pour lui!" Domini said in a low voice.
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