“So, you see now, Yûsuf was not angry altogether without cause. I trust you will not now esteem it necessary to see the Consul, and produce a scandal which I think would kill me.”
Thoroughly disgusted with her whole behaviour, Barakah began to sob again.
“I never truly meant to go,” she blurted.
“I thank you infinitely,” said the Pasha grandly, again saluting as he rose to go. “You relieve me of a terrible anxiety. Our house has never known the breath of scandal.... But pleasure!—you assure me that you walked for pleasure?” he gasped, reverting to the former wonder. “I could understand it in a garden, round and round. But when it is a case of going anywhere—Grand Dieu!”
That was a marvel which for weeks convulsed the harîm world. The Pasha mentioned it at home. Within an hour the wondrous news was known to every woman. The English bride of Yûsuf Bey Muhammad had walked from such a house to such a crossways, all in thick dust, amid the crowd of wayfarers—for pleasure, so she said! Insanity, a love appointment with an Englishman, a touch of sunstroke, the insensibility to comfort of a woman of coarse origin, were solutions of the riddle freely offered and discussed. But the theory which found most favour for its probability was that the Englishwoman was the sport of some malignant wizard or afrît, who made her walk to show his power upon her.
Leylah Khânum and Gulbeyzah were the first to call and question her upon the strange performance. They asked point-blank why she had walked; and when she answered, “Just for exercise,” they eyed her in a way that showed they thought her mad. Then came the throng of mere acquaintances, not less curious, but infinitely too polite to ask a question; who watched for symptoms of derangement through the flow of compliments. The elderly princess, Amînah Khânum, alone showed understanding and some sympathy.
“My dear,” she said, “you’ve set the parrots talking. Do you know that ‘durrah,’ which means fellow-wife, means parrot too? Bear that in mind. Their tongues!—They fail to comprehend. They think you are bewitched or mad. For me, your conduct was entirely natural. But I fancy you will give up walking here in Egypt. Were not your clothes a mass of dust beneath your habbarah? Whenever you are in a difficulty, come to me. I have some jurisdiction, and I wish you happy.”
Barakah was far from happy in those days. For one thing, she had felt the bars confining her. And then a vision of the English sneering lurked ever in the background of her mind, a fount of gall. With Yûsuf she was once more upon loving terms, and any differences that arose between them came from her ill-temper. She was growing irritable. The food, too highly spiced, did not agree with her; the sanitary arrangements were disgusting; she noticed failings not observed before, particularly in the behaviour of the servants to her.
At first, on coming to that nest of love, released from the restrictions of a great harîm, her slave-girls had been lazy, but obsequious. At that time the old woman had commanded them, relieving Barakah, whose little knowledge of the language would have placed her at their mercy. But now the crone had been dismissed; the servants, with respect diminished by the quarrel they had witnessed, were grown insolent and off-hand in their service. The child Fatûmah, who had been a pet with Barakah, made rude grimaces and ran off when called.
One hot midday, feeling extremely ill, she called for water. There came no answer, though she heard them chattering. She called again and clapped her hands. Still no one came. The cruelty of such neglect incensed her. With fevered strength she rose and went to scold them. She met a slave arriving at her leisure. At the words, “Ready, O my lady!” proffered with an undisguised yawn, she sprang upon the girl and clutched her throat, exclaiming: “Bring water, dost thou hear, O daughter of a dog! Bring water quickly!”