y declared seriously that she would think it over, make a
calculation, and Amor should convey her decision as to price to him on
the morrow.

All seemed well satisfied with this. And the tarah-player remarked,
after a slight pause, that he would wait to know about the price before
he decided whether he would be too sick to play in London. Then, at a
signal from Said Hitani, they all took up their instruments and played
and sang a garden song called _Mabouf_, describing how a Sheik and his
best loved wife walked in a great garden and sang one against the other.

"It has been quite delicious!" said Mrs. Shiffney to Claude, when at
last the song _Au Revoir_, tumultuously brilliant with a tremendous
crescendo at the close, had been played, and with many salaams and good
wishes the musicians had departed.

"I love their playing," Claude answered. "But really you shouldn't have
paid them. I have arranged with Hitani to come every evening."

"Oh, but I paid them for wanting to know whether they could go to London
on camels. What a success your opera ought to be if you have got a fine
libretto."

They were just leaving the cafe.

"Do let us stand by the wall for a minute," she added. "By that tree. It
is so wonderful here."

Claude's guide, Aloui, had come to accompany him home, and was behind
with Amor. They stayed in the doorway of the cafe. Mrs. Shiffney and
Claude leaned on the wall, looking down into the vast void from which
rose the cool wind and the sound of water.

"What would I give to be a creative artist!" she said. "That must add so
much meaning to all this. Do you know how fortunate you are? Do you know
you possess the earth?"

The sable sleeve of her coat touched Claude's arm and hand. Her deep
voice sounded warm and full of genuine feeling. A short time ago, when
she had come into the cafe, he had been both astonished and vexed to see
her. Now he knew that he had enjoyed this evening more than any other
evening that he had spent in Constantine.

"But there are plenty of drawbacks," he said.

"Oh, no, not real ones! After this evening--well, I shall wish for your
success. Till now I didn't care in the least. Indeed, I believe I hoped
you never would have a great success."

She moved slightly nearer to him.

"Did you?" he said.

"Yes. You've always been so horrid to me, when I always wanted to be
nice to you."

"Oh, but--"

"Don't let us talk about it. What does it matter now? I thought I might