the garden of allah-第52章

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he　was　always　looking　away　from　her。　After　praising　the　wine　he　had
relapsed　into　silence；　and　Count　Anteonishe　thought　moved　by　a　very
delicate　sense　of　tactdid　not　directly　address　him　again　just　then；
but　resumed　the　interrupted　conversation　about　the　Arabs；　first
explaining　that　the　servants　understood　no　French。　He　discussed　them
with　a　minute　knowledge　that　evidently　sprang　from　a　very　real
affection；　and　presently　she　could　not　help　alluding　to　this。

〃I　think　you　love　the　Arabs　far　more　than　any　Europeans；〃　she　said。

He　fixed　his　bright　eyes　upon　her；　and　she　thought　that　just　then　they
looked　brighter　than　ever　before。

〃Why？〃　he　asked　quietly。

〃Do　you　know　the　sound　that　comes　into　the　voice　of　a　lover　of
children　when　it　speaks　of　a　child？〃

〃Ah！the　note　of　a　deep　indulgence？〃

〃I　hear　it　in　yours　whenever　you　speak　of　the　Arabs。〃

She　spoke　half　jestingly。　For　a　moment　he　did　not　reply。　Then　he　said
to　the　priest：

〃You　have　lived　long　in　Africa；　Father。　Have　not　you　something　of　the
same　feeling　towards　these　children　of　the　sun？〃

〃Yes；　and　I　have　noticed　it　in　our　dead　Cardinal。〃

〃Cardinal　Lavigerie。〃

Androvsky　bent　over　his　plate。　He　seemed　suddenly　to　withdraw　his　mind
forcibly　from　this　conversation　in　which　he　was　taking　no　active　part；
as　if　he　refused　even　to　listen　to　it。

〃He　is　your　hero；　I　know；〃　the　Count　said　sympathetically。

〃He　did　a　great　deal　for　me。〃

〃And　for　Africa。　And　he　was　wise。〃

〃You　mean　in　some　special　way？〃　Domini　said。

〃Yes。　He　looked　deep　enough　into　the　dark　souls　of　the　desert　men　to
find　out　that　his　success　with　them　must　come　chiefly　through　his
goodness　to　their　dark　bodies。　You　aren't　shocked；　Father？〃

〃No；　no。　There　is　truth　in　that。〃

But　the　priest　assented　rather　sadly。

〃Mahomet　thought　too　much　of　the　body；〃　he　added。

Domini　saw　the　Count　compress　his　lips。　Then　he　turned　to　Androvsky
and　said：

〃Do　you　think　so；　Monsieur？〃

It　was　a　definite；　a　resolute　attempt　to　draw　his　guest　into　the
conversation。　Androvsky　could　not　ignore　it。　He　looked　up　reluctantly
from　his　plate。　His　eyes　met　Domini's；　but　immediately　travelled　away
from　them。

〃I　doubt〃　he　said。

He　paused；　laid　his　hands　on　the　table；　clasping　its　edge；　and
continued　firmly；　even　with　a　sort　of　hard　violence：

〃I　doubt　if　most　good　men；　or　men　who　want　to　be　good；　think　enough
about　the　body；　consider　it　enough。　I　have　thought　that。　I　think　it
still。〃

As　he　finished　he　stared　at　the　priest；　almost　menacingly。　Then；　as　if
moved　by　an　after…thought；　he　added：

〃As　to　Mahomet；　I　know　very　little　about　him。　But　perhaps　he　obtained
his　great　influence　by　recognising　that　the　bodies　of　men　are　of　great
importance；　of　tremendoustremendous　importance。〃

Domini　saw　that　the　interest　of　Count　Anteoni　in　his　guest　was
suddenly　and　vitally　aroused　by　what　he　had　just　said；　perhaps　even
more　by　his　peculiar　way　of　saying　it；　as　if　it　were　forced　from　him
by　some　secret；　irresistible　compulsion。　And　the　Count's　interest
seemed　to　take　hands　with　her　interest；　which　had　had　a　much　longer
existence。　Father　Roubier；　however；　broke　in　with　a　slightly　cold：

〃It　is　a　very　dangerous　thing；　I　think；　to　dwell　upon　the　importance
of　the　perishable。　One　runs　the　risk　of　detracting　from　the　much
greater　importance　of　the　imperishable。〃

〃Yet　it's　the　starved　wolves　that　devour　the　villages；〃　said
Androvsky。

For　the　first　time　Domini　felt　his　Russian　origin。　There　was　a
silence。　Father　Roubier　looked　straight　before　him；　but　Count
Anteoni's　eyes　were　fixed　piercingly　upon　Androvsky。　At　last　he　said：

〃May　I　ask；　Monsieur；　if　you　are　a　Russian？〃

〃My　father　was。　But　I　have　never　set　foot　in　Russia。〃

〃The　soul　that　I　find　in　the　art；　music；　literature　of　your　country
is；　to　me；　the　most　interesting　soul　in　Europe；〃　the　Count　said　with　a
ring　of　deep　earnestness　in　his　grating　voice。

Spoken　as　he　spoke　it；　no　compliment　could　have　been　more　gracious；
even　moving。　But　Androvsky　only　replied　abruptly：

〃I'm　afraid　I　know　nothing　of　all　that。〃

Domini　felt　hot　with　a　sort　of　shame；　as　at　a　close　friend's　public
display　of　ignorance。　She　began　to　speak　to　the　Count　of　Russian
music；　books；　with　an　enthusiasm　that　was　sincere。　For　she；　too；　had
found　in　the　soul　from　the　Steppes　a　meaning　and　a　magic　that　had
taken　her　soul　prisoner。　And　suddenly；　while　she　talked；　she　thought
of　the　Desert　as　the　burning　brother　of　the　frigid　Steppes。　Was　it　the
wonder　of　the　eternal　flats　that　had　spoken　to　her　inmost　heart
sometimes　in　London　concert…rooms；　in　her　room　at　night　when　she　read；
forgetting　time；　which　spoke　to　her　now　more　fiercely　under　the　palms
of　Africa？　At　the　thought　something　mystic　seemed　to　stand　in　her
enthusiasm。　The　mystery　of　space　floated　about　her。　But　she　did　not
express　her　thought。　Count　Anteoni　expressed　it　for　her。

〃The　Steppes　and　the　Desert　are　akin；　you　know；〃　he　said。　〃Despite　the
opposition　of　frost　and　fire。〃

〃Just　what　I　was　thinking！〃　she　exclaimed。　〃That　must　be　why〃

She　stopped　short。

〃Yes？〃　said　the　Count。

Both　Father　Roubier　and　Androvsky　looked　at　her　with　expectancy。　But
she　did　not　continue　her　sentence；　and　her　failure　to　do　so　was
covered；　or　at　the　least　excused；　by　a　diversion　that　secretly　she
blessed。　At　this　moment；　from　the　ante…room；　there　came　a　sound　of
African　music；　both　soft　and　barbarous。　First　there　was　only　one
reiterated　liquid　note；　clear　and　glassy；　a　note　that　suggested　night
in　a　remote　place。　Then；　beneath　it；　as　foundation　to　it；　rose　a
rustling　sound　as　of　a　forest　of　reeds　through　which　a　breeze　went
rhythmically。　Into　this　stole　the　broken　song　of　a　thin　instrument
with　a　timbre　rustic　and　antique　as　the　timbre　of　the　oboe；　but
fainter；　frailer。　A　twang　of　softly…plucked　strings　supported　its　wild
and　pathetic　utterance；　and　presently　the　almost　stifled　throb　of　a
little　tomtom　that　must　have　been　placed　at　a　distance。　It　was　like　a
beating　heart。

The　Count　and　his　guests　sat　listening　in　silence。　Domini　began　to
feel　curiously　expectant；　yet　she　did　not　recognise　the　odd　melody。
Her　sensation　was　that　some　other　music　must　be　coming　which　she　had
heard　before；　which　had　moved　her　deeply　at　some　time　in　her　life。　She
glanced　at　the　Count　and　found　him　looking　at　her　with　a　whimsical
expression；　as　if　he　were　a　kind　conspirator　whose　plot　would　soon　be
known。

〃What　is　it？〃　she　asked　in　a　low　voice。

He　bent　towards　her。

〃Wait！〃　he　whispered。　〃Listen！〃

She　saw　Androvsky　frown。　His　face　was　distorted　by　an　expression　of
pain；　and　she　wondered　if　he；　like　some　Europeans；　found　the　barbarity
of　the　desert　music　ugly　and　even　distressing　to　the　nerves。　While　she
wondered　a　voice　began　to　sing；　always　accompanied　by　the　four
instruments。　It　was　a　contralto　voice；　but　sounded　like　a　youth's。

〃What　is　that　song？〃　she　asked　under　her　breath。　〃Surely　I　must　have
heard　it！〃

〃You　don't　know？〃

〃Wait！〃

She　searched　her　heart。　It　seemed　to　her　that　she　knew　the　song。　At
some　period　of　her　life　she　had　certainly　been　deeply　moved　by　itbut
when？　where？　The　voice　died　away；　and　was　succeeded　by　a　soft　chorus
singing　monotonously：

　〃Wurra…Wurra。〃

Then　it　rose　once　more　in　a　dreamy　and　reticent　refrain；　like　the
voice　of　a　soul　communing　with　itself　in　the　desert；　above　the
instruments　and　the　murmuring　chorus。

〃You　remember？〃　whispered　the　Count。

She　moved　her　head　in　assent　but　did　not　speak。　She　could　not　speak。
It　was　the　song　the　Arab　had　sung　as　he　turned　into　the　shadow　of　the
palm　trees；　the　song　of　the　freed　negroes　of　Touggourt：

　〃No　one　but　God　and　I
　　Knows　what　is　in　my　heart。〃

The　priest　leaned　back　in　his　chair。　His　dark　eyes　were　cast　down；　and
his　thin；　sun…browned　hands　were　folded　together　in　a　way　that
suggested　prayer。　Did　this　desert　song　of　the　black　men；　children　of
God　like　him　as　their　song　affirmed；　stir　his　soul　to　some　grave
petition　that　embraced　the　wants　of　all　humanity？

Androvsky　was　sitting　quite　still。　He　was　also　looking　down　and　the
lids　covered　his　eyes。　An　expression　of　pain　still　lingered　on　his
face；　but　it　was　less　cruel；　no　longer　tortu