She was smiling, and pleasantly excited at the presence of a
visitor whose arrival broke the tiresome monotony of an invalid's
household. When she had set one of the pearly maidas in front of
Victoria's seat of cushions, she held back the curtains for Hsina to
enter, carrying a copper tray. This the negress placed on the maida, and
uncovered a china bowl balanced in a silver stand, like a giant coffee
cup of Moorish fashion. It contained hot soup, called cheurba, in which
Hsina had put so much fell-fell, the red pepper loved by Arabs, that
Victoria's lips were burned. But it was good, and she would not wince
though the tears stung her eyes as she drank, for Lella M'Barka and the
two servants were watching her eagerly.
Afterwards came a kouskous of chicken and farina, which she ate with a
large spoon whose bowl was of tortoiseshell, the handle of ivory tipped
with coral. Then, when the girl hoped there might be nothing more,
appeared tadjine, a ragout of mutton with artichokes and peas, followed
by a rich preserve of melon, and many elaborate cakes iced with pink and
purple sugar, and powdered with little gold sequins that had to be
picked off as the cake was eaten. At last, there was thick, sweet
coffee, in a cup like a little egg-shell supported in filigree gold (for
no Mussulman may touch lip to metal), and at the end Fafann poured
rosewater over Victoria's fingers, wiping them on a napkin of fine
damask.
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