lights； humming with voices； throbbing with the clashing music that
poured from the rival /cafes maures/； thronged with the white figures
of the desert men； strolling slowly； softly as panthers up and down。
The moonlight was growing brighter； as if invisible hands began to fan
the white flame of passion which lit up Beni…Mora。 A patrol of
Tirailleurs Indigenes passed by going up the street； in yellow and
blue uniforms； turbans and white gaiters； their rifles over their
broad shoulders。 The faint tramp of their marching feet was just
audible on the sandy road。
〃Hadj can go home if he is afraid of anything in the dancing street；〃
said Domini； rather maliciously。 〃Let us follow the soldiers。〃
Hadj started as if he had been stung； and looked at Domini as if he
would like to strangle her。
〃I am afraid of nothing；〃 he exclaimed proudly。 〃Madame does not know
Hadj…ben…Ibrahim。〃
Batouch laughed soundlessly； shaking his great shoulders。 It was
evident that he had divined his cousin's wish to supplant him and was
busily taking his revenge。 Domini was amused； and as they went slowly
up the street in the wake of the soldiers she said：
〃Do you often come here at night； Hadj…ben…Ibrahim？〃
〃Oh； yes； Madame； when I am alone。 But with ladies〃
〃You were here last night； weren't you； with the traveller from the
hotel？〃
〃No； Madame。 The Monsieur of the hotel preferred to visit the cafe of
the story…teller； which is far more interesting。 If Madame will permit
me to take her〃
But this last assault was too much for the poet's philosophy。 He
suddenly threw off all pretence of graceful calm； and poured out upon
Hadj a torrent of vehement Arabic； accompanying it with passionate
gestures which filled Suzanne with horror and Domini with secret
delight。 She liked this abrupt unveiling of the raw。 There had always
lurked in her an audacity； a quick spirit of adventure more boyish
than feminine。 She had reached the age of thirty…two without ever
gratifying it； or even fully realising how much she longed to gratify
it。 But now she began to understand it and to feel that it was
imperious。
〃I have a barbarian in me；〃 she thought。
〃Batouch！〃 she said sharply。
The poet turned a distorted face to her。
〃Madame！〃
〃That will do。 Take us to the dancing…house。〃
Batouch shot a last ferocious glance at Hadj and they went on into the
crowd of strolling men。
The little street； bright with the lamps of the small houses； from
which projected wooden balconies painted in gay colours； and with the
glowing radiance of the moon； was mysterious despite its gaiety； its
obvious dedication to the cult of pleasure。 Alive with the shrieking
sounds of music； the movement and the murmur of desert humanity made
it almost solemn。 This crowd of boys and men； robed in white from head
to heel； preserved a serious grace in its vivacity； suggested besides
a dignified barbarity a mingling of angel； monk and nocturnal spirit。
In the distance of the moonbeams； gliding slowly over the dusty road
with slippered feet； there was something soft and radiant in their
moving whiteness。 Nearer； their pointed hoods made them monastical as
a procession stealing from a range of cells to chant a midnight mass。
In the shadowy dusk of the tiny side alleys they were like wandering
ghosts intent on unholy errands or returning to the graveyard。
On some of the balconies painted girls were leaning and smoking
cigarettes。 Before each of the lighted doorways from which the shrill
noise of music came； small； intent crowds were gathered； watching the
performance that was going on inside。 The robes of the Arabs brushed
against the skirts of Domini and Suzanne； and eyes stared at them from
every side with a scrutiny that was less impudent than seriously bold。
〃Madame！〃
Hadj's thin hand was pulling Domini's sleeve。
〃Well； what is it？〃
〃This is the best dancing…house。 The children dance here。〃
Domini's height enabled her to peer over the shoulders of those
gathered before the door； and in the lighted distance of a white…
walled room； painted with figures of soldiers and Arab chiefs； she saw
a small wriggling figure between two rows of squatting men； two baby
hands waving coloured handkerchiefs； two little feet tapping
vigorously upon an earthen floor； for background a divan crowded with
women and musicians； with inflated cheeks and squinting eyes。 She
stood for a moment to look； then she turned away。 There was an
expression of disgust in her eyes。
〃No； I don't want to see children；〃 she said。 〃That's too〃
She glanced at her escort and did not finish。
〃I know；〃 said Batouch。 〃Madame wishes for the real ouleds。〃
He led them across the street。 Hadj followed reluctantly。 Before going
into this second dancing…house Domini stopped again to see from
outside what it was like； but only for an instant。 Then a brightness
came into her eyes； an eager look。
〃Yes； take me in here；〃 she said。
Batouch laughed softly； and Hadj uttered a word below his breath。
〃Madame will see Irena here；〃 said Batouch； pushing the watching Arabs
unceremoniously away。
Domini did not answer。 Her eyes were fixed on a man who was sitting in
a corner far up the room； bending forward and staring intently at a
woman who was in the act of stepping down from a raised platform
decorated with lamps and small bunches of flowers in earthen pots。
〃I wish to sit quite near the door；〃 she whispered to Batouch as they
went in。
〃But it is much better〃
〃Do what I tell you；〃 she said。 〃The left side of the room。〃
Hadj looked a little happier。 Suzanne was clinging to his arm。 He
smiled at her with something of mischief； but he took care； when a
place was cleared on a bench for their party； to sit down at the end
next the door； and he cast an anxious glance towards the platform
where the dancing…girls attached to the cafe sat in a row； hunched up
against the bare wall； waiting their turn to perform。 Then suddenly he
shook his head； tucked in his chin and laughed。 His whole face was
transformed from craven fear to vivacious rascality。 While he laughed
he looked at Batouch； who was ordering four cups of coffee from the
negro attendant。 The poet took no notice。 For the moment he was intent
upon his professional duties。 But when the coffee was brought； and set
upon a round wooden stool between two bunches of roses； he had time to
note Hadj's sudden gaiety and to realise its meaning。 Instantly he
spoke to the negro in a low voice。 Hadj stopped laughing。 The negro
sped away and returned with the proprietor of the cafe； a stout Kabyle
with a fair skin and blue eyes。
Batouch lowered his voice to a guttural whisper and spoke in Arabic；
while Hadj； shifting uneasily on the end seat； glanced at him sideways
out of his almond…shaped eyes。 Domini heard the name 〃Irena；〃 and
guessed that Batouch was asking the Kabyle to send for her and make
her dance。 She could not help being amused for a moment by the comedy
of intrigue； complacently malignant on both sides； that was being
played by the two cousins； but the moment passed and left her
engrossed； absorbed； and not merely by the novelty of the
surroundings； by the strangeness of the women； of their costumes； and
of their movements。 She watched them； but she watched more closely；
more eagerly； rather as a spy than as a spectator； one who was
watching them with an intentness； a still passion； a fierce curiosity
and a sort of almost helpless wonder such as she had never seen
before； and could never have found within herself to put at the
service of any human marvel。
Close to the top of the room on the right the stranger was sitting in
the midst of a mob of Arabs； whose flowing draperies almost concealed
his ugly European clothes。 On the wall immediately behind him was a
brilliantly…coloured drawing of a fat Ouled Nail leering at a French
soldier； which made an unconventional background to his leaning figure
and sunburnt face； in which there seemed now to be both asceticism and
something so different and so powerful that it was likely； from moment
to moment； to drive out the asceticism and to achieve the loneliness
of all conquering things。 This fighting expression made Domini think
of a picture she had once seen representing a pilgrim going through a
dark forest attended by his angel and his devil。 The angel of the
pilgrim was a weak and almost childish figure； frail； bloodless；
scarcely even radiant； while the devil was lusty and bold； with a
muscular body and a sensual； aquiline face； which smiled craftily；
looking at the pilgrim。 There was surely a devil in the watching
traveller which was pushing the angel out of him。 Domini had never
before seemed to see clearly the legendary battle of the human heart。
But it had never before been manifested to her audaciously in the
human face。
All around the Arabs sat； motionless and at ease； gazing on the
curious dance of which they never tirea dance which has some
ingenuity； much sensuality and provocation； but little beauty and
little mystery； unlessas happens now and thenan idol…like woman of
the South； with all the enigma of the distant desert in her kohl…
tinted eyes； dances it with the sultr