Miruit was one of Pentaur's best pupils; he was training Dio to imitate her. She threw back her arms, stretched and yawned sweetly, still failing to understand what had happened. Suddenly a handful of pods fell at her feet. She looked up and understood.
"Ah, you bare-back devil!" she cried, and seizing an earthenware jug from which she had drunk pomegranate wine at dinner—that was why she had slept so soundly—threw it at the monkey.
The animal hissed maliciously and, snapping its teeth, jumped on to another palm tree and hid itself; only a dry rustle among the leaves betrayed its presence.
"It is too bad! As soon as I begin dreaming of something nice they are sure to wake me!" Miruit grumbled.
"And what were you dreaming of?" asked Dio.
"Oh, all sorts of things. Too good to tell." Suddenly she came up to Dio, bent down and whispered in her ear:
"It was about you. I dreamt that you ... No, I can't say it before him; he will hear and pull my ears."
"I will do it anyhow, you fidget! Do you imagine I don't know where you go gadding every day?"
"Oh, thank you for reminding me. I am late! My merchant must be waiting for me and raging, and he had promised me a necklace for to-day. Mine is so shabby that I am simply ashamed to wear it."
"You nasty hussy!" Pentaur shouted at her with sudden anger. "Mixing yourself up with an unclean dog, an uncircumcised!"