No doubt the eyes of men had devoured her
ever since she could remember. It was obvious that they meant nothing
to her, that they did not even for an instant disturb the current of her
dreary thoughts.
Another girl was dancing, a stout, Oriental Jewess with a thick hooked
nose, large lips and bulging eyes, that looked as if they had been newly
scoured with emery powder. While she danced she sang, or rather shouted
roughly, an extraordinary melody that suggested battle, murder and
sudden death. Careless of onlookers, she sometimes scratched her head
or rubbed her nose without ceasing her contortions. Domini guessed that
this was the girl whom she had seen from the tower dancing upon the roof
in the sunset. Distance and light had indeed transformed her. Under the
lamps she was the embodiment of all that was coarse and greasy. Even the
pitiful slenderness of Irena seemed attractive when compared with her
billowing charms, which she kept in a continual commotion that was
almost terrifying.
"Hadj is nearly dead with fear," whispered Batouch, complacently.
Domini's lips curled.
"Does not Madame think Irena beautiful as the moon on the waters of the
Oued Beni-Mora?"
"Indeed I don't," she replied bluntly.
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