At last she heard the divan creak under his weight, but not until
Gaston came back bringing his supper. As he ate he spoke, and his first
words provoked an exclamation of dismay from the Frenchman, which was
hastily smothered with a murmured apology, and then Diana became aware
that others had come into the room. He spoke to each in turn, and she
recognised Yusef's clear, rather high-pitched voice arguing with the
taciturn head camelman, whose surly intonations and behaviour matched
the bad-tempered animals to whom he was devoted, until a word from
Ahmed Ben Hassan silenced them both. There were two more who received
their orders with only a grunt of acquiescence.
Presently they went out, but Yusef lingered, talking volubly, half in
Arabic, half in French, but lapsing more and more into the vernacular
as he grew excited. Even in the midst of her trouble the thought of him
sent a little smile to Diana's lips. She could picture him squatting
before the Sheik, scented and immaculate, his fine eyes rolling, his
slim hands waving continually, his handsome face alight with boyish
enthusiasm and worship. At last he, too, went, and only Gaston
remained, busy with the cafetiere that was his latest toy. The
aroma of the boiling coffee filled the tent. She could imagine the
servant's deft fingers manipulating the fragile glass and silver
appliance. She could hear the tinkle of the spoon as he moved the cup,
the splash of the coffee as he poured it out, the faint sound of the
cup being placed on the inlaid table. Why was Ahmed drinking French
coffee when he always complained it kept him awake? At night he was in
the habit of taking the native preparation. Surely to-night he had need
of sleep. It was the hardest day he had had since his illness. For a
few moments longer Gaston moved about the outer room, and from the
sound Diana guessed that he was collecting on to a tray the various
things that had to be removed. Then his voice, louder than he had
spoken before: "Monseigneur desir d'autre chose?"
The Sheik must have signed in the negative, for there was no audible
answer.
"Bon soir, Monseigneur."
"Bon soir, Gaston."
Diana drew a quick breath. While the man was still in the adjoining
room the moment for which she was waiting seemed interminable. And now
she wished he had not gone. He stood between her and--what? For the
first time since the coming of Saint Hubert she was alone with him,
really alone. Only a curtain separated them, a curtain that she could
not pass. She longed to go to him, but she did not dare. She was pulled
between love and fear, and for the moment fear was in the ascendant.
She shivered, and a sob rose in her throat as the memory came to her of
another night during those two months of happiness, that were fast
becoming like a wonderful dream, when he had ridden in late. After
Gaston left she had gone to him, flushed and bright-eyed with sleep,
and he had pulled her down on to his knee, and made her share the
native coffee she detested, laughing boyishly at her face of disgust.
And, holding her in his arms with her head on his shoulder, he had told
her all the incidents of the day's visit to one of the other camps, and
from his men and his horses drifted almost insensibly into details
connected with his own plans for the future, which were really the
intimate confidences of a husband to a wife who is also a comrade. The
mingled pain and pleasure of the thought had made her shiver, and he
had started up, declaring that she was cold, and, lifting her till his
cheek was resting on hers, carried her back into the other room.