This was the costume of the woman, but the woman herself, as she stood in the doorway, the taper in her hand, who may describe her? Tall, lithe, laughing—her black hair, braided, tied behind her neck, and still reaching the ground; her eyebrows straight as though pencilled; her ears small and closely set; her nose straight and thin, with fluttering nostrils; her shoulders sloping; her bust firm and pulsating beneath her linen vest; her slender waist; her little feet, in the blue velvet slippers; the charm of breeding and of youth; the added charm of jewels and of soft textures; what wonder that the two men sat silent and gazing?
Abdullah spoke first. "Beloved," he said, "I have broken your night's rest that you may have eternal rest."
The girl laughed. "That is a long way off," she said. "The cemetery, with the cypress-trees, is beautiful, but this hut, with thee, is better. Why did you wake me?"
"Because, since you slept," said Abdullah, "I have changed my religion."
"Good," exclaimed the girl; "then I change mine. I am tired of a religion that makes me plait my hair for eight hours of the day and sends no man to see it."
"What religion do you choose?" asked Abdullah.
"Yours," said the girl, seating herself and dropping her hands, interlaced, and covered with turquoise rings, about her knees; "why should a woman question anything when her husband has passed upon it?"
"Did I not tell thee?" said Abdullah.
"Yes," said the priest, "but I waited for her own words."
"You have them now," said Abdullah, and they went out to the spring.