"I will tell him."
Nothing more. Her manner was not discourteous, but her voice was forbidding. She had been given instructions to keep silence. And just before leaving the room, a further confirmation of Marishka's conviction that Yeva was at that very moment in another part of the house, Zubeydeh gathered up the two pieces of drapery which Marishka had given the girl, and carried them out of the room.
The hours lengthened while Marishka sat trying to gather the remnants of her courage to face Captain Goritz when he should come to her. The Turkish lamp which hung from the ceiling burned dimly, casting grotesque shadows about the room, flickering in patches of tawdry light upon the gilt of the embroidered hangings, and touching the blades of the ancient weapons which decorated the wall about the couch, scimitars, swords, daggers and spears! Marishka got up and examined them more closely, curiously, as though she had not seen them before. She shuddered a little as she plucked from its sheath a small dagger with a bronzed handle, and found that its blade was very sharp and bright. She reached up to put it back, but as she did so there was a sound from the room beyond the passage, and a knock upon the door. So she slipped the weapon into the waistband of her skirt, beneath her blouse, and went to her seat among the pillows. In a moment the knock was repeated, and in reply to her call, the door opened and she heard footsteps along the corridor.
The man who entered was tall and slender, with a hooked nose, heavy brows, and a beard streaked with white. He wore the turban and bright green belt which denoted the Moslem, and the fingers with which he touched brow, lips, and heart in salutation were covered with rings.
"Saläm 'alaikum," he muttered, bowing.
Marishka knew no reply to this and made none, waiting in some trepidation for him to proceed. He was a villainous looking creature, but comported himself with an air of some dignity. In a moment he spoke again in excellent German.
"I hope that Excellency has been able to make herself quite comfortable in my poor house."
As he spoke, Marishka remembered that this was one of the voices of her dreams, the gruff voice which talked with Goritz.
Something was required of her in reply, and so, with an effort,
"Yeva has been very kind, Effendi," she managed.