They carried me into the vast hall of her house, paved with cement, and ending in a balcony overhanging the sea of Marmora, and laid me on a couch. The mistress of the house sat by me, and touched my cheek lightly with one of her fingers.
“Get some fresh water, Leila,” she commanded.
The younger of the two slaves lifted an iron cover in the middle of the hall, and dropped down an old black iron bucket, which, after a long minute, touched water in the depths of the earth. The water she brought me was icy cold. They bathed my mouth, and put a wet towel on my head. Inwardly I was laughing at all this attention; but I was quite content.
When the bleeding stopped, the lady ordered a sherbet. It was made of fresh cherries, cool and sweet, and I ate it with great relish. Then the lady in her soft, remote voice crooned:
“You are the baby of my new tenants, are you not?”
“I am not a baby,” I answered, insulted. “I’m quite grown up, only I’m undersized—and all my frocks are three years old. But because they are in good condition, and I can’t outgrow them enough, I must keep on wearing them.”
She laughed. “I have been watching you since you came here, and it seems to me wonderful that you haven’t been killed several times. Why do you keep on climbing those trees?”
“To get my afternoon tea up there,” I answered. “Besides which it keeps me thin.”
The light of amusement danced in her eyes, but she did not laugh again.
“I can see what you think in your eyes,” I said. “You think that what I need is fattening. My family takes care of that; for I am made to swallow everything from vin de quinquina to any other drug they may see advertised, with or without the consent of the doctor. And if I were to get fat they would then start on the opposite drugs.”