of my amazement when it rose, as I would have passed it, and
spoke."

"'This, also, is a good season for traveling?' it said, and I spun on
my heel to face it. From the hood of a bernouse there looked out at
me, pale and delicate still, the face of Madame Bertin."

"In my bewilderment and my--my joy, I caught at both her hands and
held them for a moment. She smiled and freed herself gently, and her
eyes mocked me. She was the same as ever, impregnably the same;
stress of mind, sorrow, exile, loneliness--they could not avail to
stir her from her pedestal of composure. That manner--it is the armor
of the woman of the world."

"'I came here on a camel,' she told me, in answer to my inquiries.
'On a camel from my home. I understand now why chameau is a word of
abuse.'"

"'I am not very sure that the season is good for traveling,' I said."

"She shrugged her shoulders. 'When one is acclimatized, seasons are
no longer important.'"

"'And you are acclimatized, Madame?' I asked her."

"She showed me the bernouse. 'Even to this,' she said."

"Across the slopes of sand, one could hear the engine of the little
military train grunting and wheezing as it collected its cars, and
the strident voice of a man cursing Arab laborers."

"'You go by that train?' she asked me."

"'To Torah,' I answered."

"'I also,' she said, looking at me inquiringly.

"I said I was fortunate to have her company, and it was plain that
she was relieved. For I guessed forthwith that it was at Torah that
Bertin was, and she knew that if my going thither were to arrest him,
I would spare her. I am sure she knew that."

"It was a journey of a day and a night, while that little train
rolled at leisure through a world of parched sand, beyond the
sandhills to the eye-wearying monotony of the desert. Sometimes it
would halt beside a tank and a tent, while a sore-eyed man ran along
the train to beg for newspapers. Over us, the sky rose in an arch
from horizon to horizon, blue and blinding; the heat was like a hand
laid on one's mouth. I had with me my soldier-servant and a provision
of food; there was something of both ecstasy and anguish in serving
her needs, in establishing her comfort. She talked little and always
so that I stood at a distance from her, fenced apart by little
graceful formalities, groping hopelessly and vainly towards her
through the clever mesh of her adroit speech and skilful remoteness.
I was already fifteen years in the countr