An elderly woman, brown skinned and black eyed, dressed in a swathing of white muslin, was seated by the bedside, fanning herself with a gentle, regular movement, and the air was fresh with the scent of eau-de-Cologne.
Beyond the woman—all down one side of the room—ran a series of arches, over which were drawn blinds of split bamboo.
With the feeling of fragments of her nightmare still clinging about her, Pansy sat up.
Then, with a rush, came back the scene in the slave market.
"Where is Mr. Le Breton?" she asked in a dazed manner.
She expected the woman to disclaim all knowledge of any such person.
However, she rose immediately.
"I'll fetch him," she said in French.
She made towards a curtained doorway.
Pansy watched her go. And her gaze stayed anxiously on the spot where the woman had disappeared.