He pointed out to Domini one or two things in the church which he admired and thought worthy; the carving of the altar rail into grapes, ears of corn, crosses, anchors; the white embroidered muslin that draped the tabernacle; the statue of a bishop in a red and gold mitre holding a staff and Bible, and another statue representing a saint with a languid and consumptive expression stretching out a Bible, on the leaves of which a tiny, smiling child was walking.

As they were about to leave the church he made Domini pause in front of a painting of Saint Bruno dressed in a white monkish robe, beneath which was written in gilt letters: 

     “Saint Bruno ordonne a ses disciples
     De renoncer aux biens terrestres
     Pour acquerir les biens celestes.”

The disciples stood around the saint in grotesque attitudes of pious attention.

“That, I think, is very beautiful,” he said.  “Who could look at it without feeling that the greatest act of man is renunciation?”

His dark eyes flamed.  Just then a faint soprano bark came to them from outside the church door, a very discreet and even humble, but at the same time anxious, bark.  The priest’s face changed.  The almost passionate asceticism of it was replaced by a soft and gentle look.

“Bous-Bous wants me,” he said, and he opened the door for Domini to pass out.

A small white and yellow dog, very clean and well brushed, was sitting on the step in an attentive attitude.  Directly the priest appeared it began to wag its short tail violently and to run round his feet, curving its body into semi-circles.  He bent down and patted it.

“My little companion, Madame,” he said.  “He was not with me yesterday, as he was being washed.”

Then he took off his hat and walked towards his house, accompanied by Bous-Bous, who had suddenly assumed an air of conscious majesty, as of one born to preside over the fate of an important personage.

Domini stood for a moment under the palm trees looking after them.  There was a steady shining in her eyes.

“Madame is a Catholic too?” asked Batouch, staring steadily at her.

Domini nodded.  She did not want to discuss religion with an Arab minor poet just then.

“Take me to the market,” she said, mindful of her secret resolve to get rid of her companion as soon as possible.

They set out across the gardens.

It was a celestial day.  All the clear, untempered light of the world seemed to have made its home in Beni-Mora.  Yet the heat was not excessive, for the glorious strength of the sun was robbed of its terror, its possible brutality, by the bright and feathery dryness and coolness of the airs.  She stepped out briskly.  Her body seemed suddenly to become years younger, full of elasticity and radiant strength.

“Madame is very strong.  Madame walks like a Bedouin.”

Batouch’s voice sounded seriously astonished, and Domini burst out laughing.