“And wine?  Have you any wine?”

She glanced again at the exhausted soldiers covered with sand and saw that their eyes were fixed upon her and were shining eagerly.  All the “good fellow” in her nature rose up.

“You must let me send you some,” she said.  “We have plenty.”

She thought of some bottles of champagne they had brought with them and never opened.

“In the desert we are all comrades,” she added, as if speaking to the soldiers.

They looked at her with an open adoration which lit up their tired faces.

“Madame,” said the officer, “you are much too good; but I accept your offer as frankly as you have made it.  A little wine will be a godsend to us to-night.  Thank you, Madame.”

The soldiers looked as if they were going to cheer.

“I’ll go to the camp—­”

“Cannot one of the men go for you, Madame?  You were sitting here.  Pray, do not let us disturb you.”

“But night is falling and I shall have to go back in a moment.”

While they had been speaking the darkness had rapidly increased.  She looked towards the distant dunes and no longer saw them.  At once her mind went to Androvsky.  Why had he not returned?  She thought of the signal.  From the camp, behind their sleeping-tent, rose the flames of a newly-made fire.

“If one of your men can go and tell Batouch—­Batouch—­to come to me here I shall be grateful,” she answered.  “And I want him to bring me a big brand from the fire over there.”

She saw wonder dawning in the eyes fixed upon her, and smiled.

“I want to signal to my husband,” she said, “and this is the highest point.  He will see it best if I stand here.”

“Go, Marelle, ask for Batouch, and be sure you bring the brand from the fire.”

The man saluted and rode off with alacrity.  The thought of wine had infused a gaiety into him and his companions.

“Now, Monsieur, don’t stand on ceremony,” Domini said to the officer.  “Go in and make your toilet.  You are longing to, I know.”

“I am longing to look a little more decent—­now, Madame,” he said gallantly, and gazing at her with a sparkle of admiration in his inflamed eyes.  “You will let me return in a moment to escort you to the camp.”

“Thank you.”

“Will you permit me—­my name is De Trevignac.”

“And mine is Madame Androvsky.”

“Russian!” the officer said.  “The alliance in the desert!  Vive la Russie!”

She laughed.

“That is for my husband, for I am English.”

“Vive l’Angleterre!” he said.

The two soldier echoed his words impulsively, lifting up in the gathering darkness hoarse voices.

“Vive l’Angleterre!”

“Thank you, thank you,” she said.  “Now, Monsieur, please don’t let me keep you.”

“I shall be back directly,” the officer replied.

And he turned and went into the tower, while the soldiers rode round to the court, tugging at the cords of the led mules.