She was gone and the sound of her retreating steps died upon the stairs. But odd phrases of her speech, which had come to him through the thunder of his own rage, rang yet in Saïd’s brain, like the catch of an evil song, and rankled there. He frowned and his eyes grew haggard. A hush seemed to have fallen upon the house; or was it only that he was deaf from the late uproar? He pictured the servants whispering together in corners, and hoped to Allah no word of Nûr’s had reached them. He heard the voice of the doorkeeper raised in a farewell compliment, and the slam of the closing gate behind someone who had passed out; and he was thankful to know that she was gone.
Ferideh laughed scornfully, looking at the empty doorway as if she still saw the bowed figure filling it, wrapped in its shroud of blue with tarnished fringe of gold. Then, marking her lord’s gloom, she knelt down at his feet and put up her arms to him.
“Praise be to Allah!” she murmured. “Now I surely know that I have favour in thy sight, because thou hast refused to hear the tale of this wicked woman, which is a lie even as the words she spake but now concerning thee are all lies. Seem not so sad, O my dear, for she is powerless to hurt thee seeing thou art set high in wealth and honour, and all men know thee for a good man and an upright. For the sake of the kindness thou hast shown me in this matter, and because thou hast deigned to reveal to me the secret place of thy treasure, I am now more fully thine than ever before. What thanks can I render thee, O my soul? Behold, my inmost secret heart is thine, and I have no desire apart from thee. Take me in thy arms, O sun that warms me! Kiss me, O my beloved!” …
Whereat Saïd became as one of no understanding.
VI
On an evening Saïd went forth alone into the gardens, to the coffeehouse of Rashìd, which was on the river bank. He was sure to find Selìm there at that hour; and he walked eagerly, having blithe news to tell. At last Mahmud Effendi had humbled himself, and Saïd was master of the bargain, though in no haste to conclude it. One more interview with the needy grandee and he would own the finest freehold palace in the city. Moreover, thanks to his address in beating down the price, he would have plenty of money left when it was paid. The surplus he would employ in trade and usury, to such advantage that he would soon be the richest man in the province and highest in honour. He saw himself a member of the Council of Notables, enthroned at the Wâly’s right hand, advising the Governor in all things.
The sometime fisherman hugged himself at the prospect. As he emerged from the eastern gate the last rays of sunlight, glanced from the dark hilltops, were melting the leafage to amber and pale gold. A rich purple gloom gathered in the east, under a sky of amethyst melting to palest green. Down the narrow road, between stone walls more or less ruined, which led to the pleasure-groves by the riverside, men in flowing robes were sauntering by groups of two and three. Their moving shadows were long, oblique and very blue. Most of them dangled chaplets, whose beads they shifted lazily one by one. A few of the more exquisite held flowers of strong perfume to their nostrils, at which they smelt rapturously with a deep breath like a sigh.
The blaze on the hilltops died suddenly, leaving a glow as of live coal. All things took on soft, dead tints. Shadows grew faint, ashy grey all at once. The sky basked in an afterthought of glory, growing tender for the stars.
A low doorway of the kind which is usual in walled vineyards admitted to the garden, or rather wilderness, in which was the tavern of Rashìd. Saïd bowed his head to pass the lintel, and then stood still in astonishment. In a space pretty clear of the bushes, which formed thickets on every side, there were four tents pitched. Three of them were large marquees; the fourth, a mere canvas screen about a fire, was observed closely by a gathering of curious loafers. Hobbled horses grazed where they could. In the mouth of the largest tent a party of Franks, lounging on chairs of loose structure, were enjoying the cool of the evening. The sound of their laughter reached Saïd, like the beating on a tin for emptiness. From the point of the tent where they sat drooped a small flag of red, white and blue, oddly striped. Saïd knew the pattern of it. It was the same which fluttered on the first day of every week over the dwelling of the English Consul. “Travellers from the land of the English,” he thought, and marvelled at the folly of men who, having wealth and honour in their own country, and being neither merchants nor pilgrims, would thus wander forth in discomfort.
Taking stock of the encampment, he drew near to the tavern. Two or three persons who knew him rose and saluted at his approach. He returned their greeting in a preoccupied manner and passed on to Selìm, who had carried his stool apart and sat against the trunk of a walnut-tree which overhung the stream. Rashìd himself was forward to bring a seat for the merchant and to ask what he would be pleased to drink.
“What news, O my master?” asked
