For the first time the mystery that
coils like a great black serpent in the shining heart of the East
startled and fascinated her, a mystery in which indifference and
devotion mingle. The white figure swayed slowly to and fro, carrying
the dull, humming voice with it, and now she seemed to hear a far-away
fanaticism, the bourdon of a fatalism which she longed to understand.
"Ahmeda!"
Batouch shouted. His voice came like a stone from a catapult. The
merchant turned calmly and without haste, showing an aquiline face
covered with wrinkles, tufted with white hairs, lit by eyes that shone
with the cruel expressiveness of a falcon's. After a short colloquy in
Arabic he raised himself from his haunches, and came to the front of the
room, where there was a small wooden counter. He was smiling now with a
grace that was almost feminine.
"What perfume does Madame desire?" he said in French.
Domini gazed at him as at a deep mystery, but with the searching
directness characteristic of her, a fearlessness so absolute that it
embarrassed many people.
"Please give me something that is of the East--not violets, not lilac.
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