He laughed at his own witticism and blew perfumed smoke toward the dim, golden roof. But now his attention was riveted by the silent entrance of six dancing-girls, that instantly brought him to keen observation.
Their dance, barefooted and with a minimum of veils, swayed into sinuous beauty to the monotonous music of kettle-drums, long red flutes and guitars of sand-tortoise shell with goat-skin heads—music furnished by a dozen Arabs squatting on their hunkers half-way down the hall. The gracious weaving of those lithe, white bodies of the girls as they swayed from sunlit filigree to dim shadow, stirred even the coldest heart among the Legionaries, that of the Master himself. As for Bohannan, his cup of joy was brimming.
The dance ended, one of the girls sang with a little foreign accent, very pleasing to the ears of the Master and Leclairs the famous chant of Kaab el Ahbar:
A black tent, swayed by the desert wind
Is dearer to me, dearer to me
Than any palace of the city walls.
Dearer to me!
[1]And the earth met with rain!
A handful of dates, a cup of camel's milk
Is dearer to me, dearer to me
Than any sweetmeat in the city walls.
Dearer to me!
And the earth wet with rain!
A slender Bedouin maid, freely unveiled
Is dearer to me, dearer to me
Than harem beauties with henna-stained fingers.
My Bedouin maid is slim as the ishkil tree.
Dearer to me!
And the earth wet with rain!
Black tent, swift white mare, camel of Hejaz blood
Are dear to me, are dear to me!
Dearest is my slim, unveiled one of the desert sands!
Dearest to me!
Ibla her name is; she blazes like the sun,
Like the sun at dawn, with hair like midnight shades,
Oh, dear to me!
Paradise is in her eyes; and in her breasts, enchantment.
Her body yields like the tamarisk,
When the soft winds blow over the hills of Nedj!
Dearest to me!