She listened to the voices of the doves. A dog barked by the bordj.
"It is almost like a hiding-place," she added.
Androvsky said nothing, but he, too, was gazing intently at the trees
below them, he, too, was listening to the voices of the doves. After a
moment he looked at her.
"Domini," he whispered. "Here--won't you--won't you let me touch your
hand again here?"
"Come, Boris," she answered. "It is late."
They rode down into Ain-la-Hammam.
The tents had all been pitched near together on the south of the bordj,
and separated by it from the tiny oasis. Opposite to them was a Cafe
Maure of the humblest kind, a hovel of baked earth and brushwood, with
earthen divans and a coffee niche. Before this was squatting a group
of five dirty desert men, the sole inhabitants of Ain-la-Hammam. Just
before dinner Domini gave an order to Batouch, and, while they were
dining, Androvsky noticed that their people were busy unpegging the two
sleeping-tents.
"What are they doing?" he said to Domini, uneasily. In his present
condition everything roused in him anxiety. In every unusual action he
discerned the beginning of some tragedy which might affect his life.
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