The room had filled again, but Hardy was no longer observant. He was thinking. He was thinking of the immeasurable human longing after hope, and it occurred to him that perhaps even a charlatan might satisfy this.
The young woman who gave the summons to the waiting clients once more appeared before the curtains, and repeated her formula:
“The princess is ready for the next seeker!”
“You go first,” said Clendenning, and Hardy rose.
He walked across the room, past all those strained faces, opened the curtains, and entered a room completely dark, filled with a heavy perfume. A hand guided him to a chair, and he vaguely discerned a white form opposite him.
“What is your trouble?” asked a low voice.
He hesitated a moment. He hadn’t prepared anything to say.
“A love affair,” he said at last.
He knew that more questions would follow, but he was unable to arm himself, to set himself to invent something plausible. He was troubled, unhappy; he sat there in the dark with a blank and apprehensive mind.
“And what is the difficulty?” asked the Princess Zoraide. “What is it that you wish to know?”