“How can that be?” asked Domini.

“Shal-lah.  It is the will of God.  One remembers nothing any more.”

His eyes were fixed upon the gigantic pinnacles of the rocks.  There was something fanatical and highly imaginative in their gaze.

“What is your name?” Domini asked.

“Batouch, Madame.  You are going to Beni-Mora?”

“Yes, Batouch.”

“I too.  To-night, under the mimosa trees, I shall compose a poem.  It will be addressed to Irena, the dancing-girl.  She is like the little moon when it first comes up above the palm trees.”

Just then the train from Beni-Mora ran into the station, and Domini turned to seek her carriage.  As she was coming to it she noticed, with the pang of the selfish traveller who wishes to be undisturbed, that a tall man, attended by an Arab porter holding a green bag, was at the door of it and was evidently about to get in.  He glanced round as Domini came up, half drew back rather awkwardly as if to allow her to precede him, then suddenly sprang in before her.  The Arab lifted in the bag, and the man, endeavouring hastily to thrust some money into his hand, dropped the coin, which fell down between the step of the carriage and the platform.  The Arab immediately made a greedy dive after it, interposing his body between Domini and the train; and she was obliged to stand waiting while he looked for it, grubbing frantically in the earth with his brown fingers, and uttering muffled exclamations, apparently of rage.  Meanwhile, the tall man had put the green bag up on the rack, gone quickly to the far side of the carriage, and sat down looking out of the window.

Domini was struck by the mixture of indecision and blundering haste which he had shown, and by his impoliteness.  Evidently he was not a gentleman, she thought, or he would surely have obeyed his first impulse and allowed her to get into the train before him.  It seemed, too, as if he were determined to be discourteous, for he sat with his shoulder deliberately turned towards the door, and made no attempt to get his Arab out of the way, although the train was just about to start.  Domini was very tired, and she began to feel angry with him, contemptuous too.  The Arab could not find the money, and the little horn now piped its warning of departure.  It was absolutely necessary for her to get in at once if she did not mean to stay at El-Akbara.  She tried to pass the grovelling Arab, but as she did so he suddenly sprang up, jumped on to the step of the carriage, and, thrusting his body half through the doorway, began to address a torrent of Arabic to the passenger within.  The horn sounded again, and the carriage jerked backwards preparatory to starting on its way to Beni-Mora.

Domini caught hold of the short European jacket the Arab was wearing, and said in French: 

“You must let me get in at once.  The train is going.”