“My lotus-flower! My heart’s delight!” he said, gazing thirstily at her fair face. “Ahalya! Thou wilt dance no more nautch dances at the theatre?”
For a moment she seemed to hesitate. Then, because she had had enough of playing for the time, she answered, truthfully enough: “Nay, lord. I—am sorry that I danced the poppy dance.”
Rai-Khizar longed to take her in his arms; but this, in the face of all the zenana, even he scarcely ventured to do. So, bending low over her, he whispered:
“In two hours come to the marble bath, and we will eat together, alone, by the fountain there. Make thyself beautiful for me, rose of Iran!—my treasure!—my child!” Then, with the smile that he gave only to her, the Rajah turned away, and left the room without speaking to any other in it.
Ten minutes after he had gone Ahalya also departed, running the new gantlet of hurt and angry glances with less indifference than she had borne her humiliation an hour before. Her pride served her well in trouble; but ill-natured jealousy always cut her to the quick; and she had found but light armor against it.
Returning to her own room, she bathed, and let Neila dress her as the Rajah commanded. Her garments were silken tissues of palest pink, delicate as rose-petals. Her waist was girdled with gold and pearls; and her hair braided and bound up with golden threads. When Neila had finished her she was a picture, and she knew it, perhaps, though she took small delight in it; for the unexpressed thought in her heart was that she would have matched her raiment with her love; and Rai-Khizar-Pál she loved as a father, as a venerable and powerful man; her master, but never the lord of her heart.
The Rajah, however, was waiting her coming with very different feelings; for he loved Ahalya as most men love only in early youth. His delight in her was out of all proportion to his reserved and conservative nature. On her he lavished the wealth of his treasury. For her he would have sacrificed, without a thought, every other woman in his zenana. And while her escapades and her insubordination never failed to startle and hurt him, they only served, in the end, to bind her more strongly to him by the chains of fascination and elusiveness.
The place where the two were to sup together was the Rajah’s favorite retreat:—an open-roofed, white-colonnaded room, in the centre of which was a broad, marble bathing-pool. Beside the water grew grasses and flowers, carefully tended; and near at hand, on the marble pavement, were piles of cushions, low stands, and all the articles of Oriental furniture necessary to a retreat where even slaves were not allowed to come without command. By night the marble terrace was lighted with lamps placed on stands; and now, in a soft glow of rosy light, beside an ebony table spread with choice dishes and rare wines, the Rajah lay, appreciating the change of this miniature fairy-land from the rough existence of camps and battle-fields; and waiting for that which should put a finishing touch to his deep content.
She came, the Ranee of his soul, unattended, her delicate garments floating about her like a cloud. At sight of her he exclaimed, and she went to him, smiling and holding out her hands, secretly desirous that he should not kiss her face. She had her wish. Scarcely daring to touch her in her delicacy, he put her off at arm’s length, and gazed at her in a kind of wonder that such a thing should be human.
“Beautiful one! My princess! Sit there and let me look at thee. Most exquisite one! Art thou too frail to eat?” He smiled at his fears, and began to lay before her the various dishes. “See, here are mangoes, and figs, and tamarinds, and little custard apples. And here is a kid cooked in sugar. And rice—and all these sauces. And there is a cup of the wine of Iran, from thy mother’s land, beautiful one.”