He had taken some of the smoke into his lungs, and it nearly strangled him. He continued to cough for some time, but suddenly stopped and rubbed the water from his eyes.
Out upon the tiled floor before them glided a number of graceful figures, girls in diaphanous draperies, which fluttered in the air, light as azure. These girls were swaying, bending, dancing, their arms waving in the air, their feet moving swiftly to the sound of tiny, tinkling bells and the throb of a strange, unnatural music. The music was produced by a number of musicians who mysteriously appeared, seated on the floor at one side.
The faces of the girls were hidden by veils, which were bound down lightly, to keep them from fluttering aside with their swaying movements and exposing their features.
Zenas gazed and gasped.
“Great Cæsar!” he muttered. “This being the proprietor of a harem is great!”
The girls continued their dance, and to the old pedagogue every movement was full of poetry. They advanced, retreated, pirouetted, their arms waving from side to side above their heads, their heads swaying, their garments fluttering, their veils hiding their features, yet seeming to show glimpses of dark, flashing eyes beyond.
The professor forgot to smoke; he forgot to breathe; he forgot to do anything but stare.
How long the dance continued, he was unable to say, but finally Coddington clapped his hands, and away glided the girls, as graceful as phantoms, and like phantoms they vanished.
The musicians vanished in the same silent manner.
A great sigh of regret came from Gunn.