She is listening to the talk." Ali grinned and passed on; Babalatchi ascended the plankway to the rear verandah, and beckoning out Mrs.Almayer, engaged her in earnest conversation.

Through the long passage, closed at the further end by the red curtain, they could hear from time to time Almayer's voice mingling in conversation with an abrupt loudness that made Mrs.Almayer look significantly at Babalatchi.
"Listen," she said.

"He has drunk much." "He has," whispered Babalatchi.

"He will sleep heavily to-night." Mrs.Almayer looked doubtful.
"Sometimes the devil of strong gin makes him keep awake, and he walks up and down the verandah all night, cursing; then we stand afar off," explained Mrs.Almayer, with the fuller knowledge born of twenty odd years of married life.
"But then he does not hear, nor understand, and his hand, of course, has no strength.

We do not want him to hear to-night." "No," assented Mrs.Almayer, energetically, but in a cautiously subdued voice.