Saint Hubert looked him full in the face. "Content! Cowed is the better
word, Ahmed."
The Sheik laughed softly. "You flatter me, Raoul. Do not let us speak
any more about it. It is an unfortunate contretemps, and I regret that
it distresses you," he said lightly; then with a sudden change of
manner he laid his hands on the Vicomte's shoulders. "But this can make
no difference to our friendship, mon ami; that is too big a
thing to break down over a difference of opinion. You are a French
nobleman, and I----!" He gave a little bitter laugh. "I am an
uncivilised Arab. We cannot see things in the same way."
"You could, but you will not, Ahmed," replied the Vicomte, with an
accent of regret. "It is not worthy of you." He paused and then looked
up again with a little crooked smile and a shrug of defeat. "Nothing
can ever make any difference with us, Ahmed. I can disagree with you,
but I can't wipe out the recollection of the last twenty years."
A few minutes later the Sheik left him and went out into the night. He
traversed the short distance between the tents slowly, stopping to
speak to a sentry, and then pausing outside his own tent to look up at
the stars. The Persian hound that always slept across the entrance
uncurled himself and got up, thrusting a wet nose into his hand. The
Sheik fondled the huge creature absently, stroking the dog's shaggy
head mechanically, hardly conscious of what he was doing. A great
restlessness that was utterly foreign to his nature had taken
possession of him. He had been aware of it growing within him for some
time, becoming stronger daily, and now the coming of Raoul de Saint
Hubert seemed to have put the crowning touch to a state of mind that he
was unable to understand. He had never been given to thinking of
himself, or criticising or analysing his passing whims and fancies. All
his life he had taken what he wanted; nothing on which he had ever laid
eyes of desire had been denied him. His wealth had brought him
everything he had ever wished. His passionate temper had been
characteristic even when he was a child, but these strange fits of
unreasonable irritability were new, and he searched for a cause vainly.
His keen eyes looked through the darkness towards the south. Was it the
nearness of his hereditary enemy, who had presumed to come closer than
he had ever done before to the border of the country that Ahmed Ben
Hassan regarded as his own, that was causing this great unrest?