not even pray without words。
Yet； in that moment； she did not feel alone。
CHAPTER XXXI
In the garden of Count Anteoni； which has now passed into other hands；
a little boy may often be seen playing。 He is gay； as children are；
and sometimes he is naughty and； as if out of sheer wantonness； he
destroys the pyramids of sand erected by the Arab gardeners upon the
narrow paths between the hills； or tears off the petals of the
geraniums and scatters them to the breezes that whisper among the
trees。 But when Larbi's flute calls to him he runs to hear。 He sits at
the feet of that persistent lover； and watches the big fingers
fluttering at the holes of the reed； and his small face becomes
earnest and dreamy； as if it looked on far…off things； or watched the
pale pageant of the mirages rising mysteriously out of the sunlit
spaces of the sands to fade again； leaving no trace behind。
Only one other song he loves more than the twittering tune of Larbi。
Sometimes； when twilight is falling over the Sahara； his mother calls
him to her； to the white wall where she is sitting beneath a jamelon
tree。
〃Listen； Boris！〃 she whispers。
The little boy climbs up on her knee； leans his face against her
breast and obeys。 An Arab is passing below on the desert track；
singing to himself as he goes towards his home in the oasis：
〃No one but God and I
Knows what is in my heart。〃
He is singing the song of the freed negroes。 When his voice has died
away the mother puts the little boy down。 It is bed time； and Smain is
there to lead him to the white villa； where he will sleep dreamlessly
till morning。
But the mother stays alone by the wall till the night falls and the
desert is hidden。
〃No one but God and I
Knows what is in my heart。〃
She whispers the words to herself。 The cool wind of the night blows
over the vast spaces of the Sahara and touches her cheek； reminding
her of the wind that； at Arba； carried fire towards her as she sat
before the tent； reminding her of her glorious days of liberty； of the
passion that came to her soul like fire in the desert。
But she does not rebel。
For always； when night falls； she sees the form of a man praying who
once fled from prayer in the desert； she sees a wanderer who at last
has reached his home。
End