He went out of the tent and disappeared silently into the darkness.  Domini and the priest looked after him.  Then the priest, with an air of embarrassment, took up his hat from the table.  His cigar had gone out, but he pulled at it as if he thought it was still alight, then took it out of his mouth and, glancing with a naive regret at the good things upon the table, his half-finished coffee, the biscuits, the white box of bon-bons—­said: 

“Madame, I must be off.  I’ve a good way to go, and it’s getting late.  If you will allow me—­”

He went to the tent door and called, in a powerful voice: 

“Belgassem!  Belgassem!”

He paused, then called again: 

“Belgassem!”

A light travelled over the sand from the farther tents of the servants.  Then the priest turned round to Domini and shook her by the hand.

“Good-night, Madame.”

“I’m very sorry,” she said, not trying to detain him.  “You must come again.  My husband is evidently ill, and—­”

“You must go to him.  Of course.  Of course.  This sun is a blessing.  Still, it brings fever sometimes, especially to strangers.  We sand-rascals—­eh, Madame!” he laughed, but the laugh had lost its sonorous ring—­“we can stand it.  It’s our friend.  But for travellers sometimes it’s a little bit too much.  But now, mind, I’m a bit of a doctor, and if to-morrow your husband is no better I might—­anyhow”—­he looked again longingly at the bon-bons and the cigars—­“if you’ll allow me I’ll call to know how he is.”

“Thank you, Monsieur.”

“Not at all, Madame, not at all!  I can set him right in a minute, if it’s anything to do with the sun, in a minute.  Ah, here’s Belgassem!”

The soldier stood like a statue without, bearing the lantern.  The priest hesitated.  He was holding the burnt-out cigar in his hand, and now he glanced at it and then at the cigar-box.  A plaintive expression overspread his bronzed and bearded face.  It became almost piteous.  Quickly Domini wait to the table, took two cigars from the box and came back.

“You must have a cigar to smoke on the way.”

“Really, Madame, you are too good, but—­well, I rarely refuse a fine cigar, and these—­upon my word—­are—­”

He struck a match on his broad-toed boot.  His demeanour was becoming cheerful again.  Domini gave the other cigar to the soldier.

“Good-night, Madame.  A demain then, a demain!  I trust your husband may be able to rest.  A demain!  A demain!”

The light moved away over the dunes and dropped down towards the city.  Then Domini hurried across the sand to the sleeping-tent.  As she went she was acutely aware of the many distant noises that rose up in the night to the pale crescent of the young moon, the pulsing of the tomtoms in the city, the faint screaming of the pipes that sounded almost like human beings in distress, the passionate barking of the guard dogs tied up to the tents on the sand-slopes