"Madame!"
Hadj's thin hand was pulling Domini's sleeve.
"Well, what is it?"
"This is the best dancing-house. The children dance here."
Domini's height enabled her to peer over the shoulders of those gathered
before the door, and in the lighted distance of a white-walled room,
painted with figures of soldiers and Arab chiefs, she saw a small
wriggling figure between two rows of squatting men, two baby hands
waving coloured handkerchiefs, two little feet tapping vigorously
upon an earthen floor, for background a divan crowded with women and
musicians, with inflated cheeks and squinting eyes. She stood for a
moment to look, then she turned away. There was an expression of disgust
in her eyes.
"No, I don't want to see children," she said. "That's too--"
She glanced at her escort and did not finish.
"I know," said Batouch. "Madame wishes for the real ouleds."
He led them across the street. Hadj followed reluctantly. Before going
into this second dancing-house Domini stopped again to see from outside
what it was like, but only for an instant. Then a brightness came into
her eyes, an eager look.
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