Now Count Anteoni told her that he had invited the priest. She felt vexed, and her face showed that she did. A cloud came down and immediately she looked changed and disquieting. Yet she liked the priest. As she sat in silence her vexation became more profound. She felt certain that if Androvsky had known the priest was coming he would not have accepted the invitation. She wished him to come, yet she wished he had known. He might think that she had known the fact and had concealed it. She did not suppose for a moment that he disliked Father Roubier personally, but he certainly avoided him. He bowed to him in the coffee-room of the hotel, but never spoke to him. Batouch had told her about the episode with Bous-Bous. And she had seen Bous-Bous endeavour to renew the intimacy and repulsed with determination. Androvsky must dislike the priesthood. He might fancy that she, a believing Catholic, had--a number of disagreeable suppositions ran through her mind. She had always been inclined to hate the propagandist since the tragedy in her family. It was a pity Count Anteoni had not indulged his imp in a different fashion. The beauty of the noon seemed spoiled. “Forgive my malice,” Count Anteoni said. “It was really a thing of thistledown. Can it be going to do harm? I can scarcely think so.” “No, no.” She roused herself, with the instinct of a woman who has lived much in the world, to conceal the vexation that, visible, would cause a depression to stand in the natural place of cheerfulness. “The desert is making me abominably natural,” she thought. At this moment the black figure of Father Roubier came out of the shadows of the trees with Bous-Bous trotting importantly beside it. “Ah, Father,” said Count Anteoni, going to meet him, while Domini got up from her chair, “it is good of you to come out in the sun to eat fish with such a bad parishioner as I am. Your little companion is welcome.” He patted Bous-Bous, who took little notice of him. “You know Miss Enfilden, I think?” continued the Count. “Father Roubier and I meet every day,” said Domini, smiling. “Mademoiselle has been good enough to take a kind interest in the humble work of the Church in Beni-Mora,” said the priest with the serious simplicity characteristic of him. He was a sincere man, utterly without pretension, and, as such men often are, quietly at home with anybody of whatever class or creed. “I must go to the garden gate,” Domini said. “Will you excuse me for a moment?” “To meet Monsieur Androvsky? Let us accompany you if Father Roubier--” “Please don’t trouble. I won’t be a minute.” Something in her voice made Count Anteoni at once acquiesce, defying his courteous instinct. “We will wait for you here,” he said.