Persian hangings, at the servants in their embroidered jackets, wide trousers, and snow-white turbans, at the vivid flowers on the table, then at the tall windows, over which flexible outside blinds, dull green in colour, were drawn; and it seemed to her that he was feeling like a trapped animal, full of a fury of uneasiness.  Father Roubier’s unconscious serenity in the midst of a luxury to which he was quite unaccustomed emphasised Androvsky’s secret agitation, which was no secret to Domini, and which she knew must be obvious to Count Anteoni.  She began to wish ardently that she had let Androvsky follow his impulse to go when he heard of Father Roubier’s presence.

They sat down.  She was on the Count’s right hand, with Androvsky opposite to her and Father Roubier on her left.  As they took their places she and the Father said a silent grace and made the sign of the Cross, and when she glanced up after doing so she saw Androvsky’s hand lifted to his forehead.  For a moment she fancied that he had joined in the tiny prayer, and was about to make the sacred sign, but as she looked at him his hand fell heavily to the table.  The glasses by his plate jingled.

“I only remembered this morning that this is a jour maigre,” said Count Anteoni as they unfolded their napkins.  “I am afraid, Father Roubier, you will not be able to do full justice to my chef, Hamdane, although he has thought of you and done his best for you.  But I hope Miss Enfilden and—­”

“I keep Friday,” Domini interrupted quietly.

“Yes?  Poor Hamdane!”

He looked in grave despair, but she knew that he was really pleased that she kept the fast day.

“Anyhow,” he continued, “I hope that you, Monsieur Androvsky, will be able to join me in testing Hamdane’s powers to the full.  Or are you too——­”

He did not continue, for Androvsky at once said, in a loud and firm voice: 

“I keep no fast days.”

The words sounded like a defiance flung at the two Catholics, and for a moment Domini thought that Father Roubier was going to treat them as a challenge, for he lifted his head and there was a flash of sudden fire in his eyes.  But he only said, turning to the Count: 

“I think Mademoiselle and I shall find our little Ramadan a very easy business.  I once breakfasted with you on a Friday—­two years ago it was, I think—­and I have not forgotten the banquet you gave me.”

Domini felt as if the priest had snubbed Androvsky, as a saint might snub, without knowing that he did so.  She was angry with Androvsky, and yet she was full of pity for him.  Why could he not meet courtesy with graciousness?  There was something almost inhuman in his demeanour.  To-day he had returned to his worst self, to the man who had twice treated her with brutal rudeness.

“Do the Arabs really keep Ramadan strictly?” she asked, looking away from Androvsky.

“Very,” said Father Roubier.  “Although, of course, I am not in sympathy with their religion, I have often been moved by their adherence to its rules.  There is something very grand in the human heart deliberately taking upon itself the yoke of discipline.”