Dozens of old silver cases,
tubes, and little jewelled boxes containing holy relics; hairs of
Mohammed's beard; a bit of web spun by the sacred spider which saved his
life; moles' feet blessed by marabouts, and texts from the Koran; all
these hung over Miluda's breast, on chains of turquoise and amber beads.
They rattled metallically, and her bracelets and anklets tinkled. Some
luscious perfume hung about her, intoxicatingly sweet. A thick, braided
clump of hair was looped on each side of the small face painted white as
ivory, and her eyes, under lashes half an inch long, were bright and
unhuman as those of an untamed gazelle.
"Wilt thou sit down?" she asked, waving the hand with the cigarette
towards a French chair, upholstered in red brocade. "The Sidi gave me
that seat because I asked for it. He gives me all I ask for."
"I will stand," answered Victoria.
"Oh, it is true, then, thou speakest Arab! I had heard so. I have heard
much of thee and of thy youth and beauty. I see that my women did not
lie. But perhaps thou art not as young as I am, though I have been a
wife for a year, and have borne a beautiful babe. I am not yet sixteen."
Victoria did not answer, and the Ouled Nail gazed at her unwinkingly, as
a child gazes.
"Thou hast travelled much, even more than the marabout himself, hast
thou not?" she inquired, graciously. "I have heard that thou hast been
to England. Are there many Arab villages there, and is it true that the
King was deposed when the Sultan, the head of our faith, lost his
throne?"
"There are no Arab villages, and the King still reigns," said Victoria.
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