The panther lay quietly at his mistress's feet, his shrewd head resting on his front paws.
Azrael now removed her bright Persian shawl from her slim waist, and next prepared to slip off her light kaftan, taking a couple of steps towards a projecting rocky buttress which hid her from the eyes of the watchers.
Sange Moarte was about to rush after her. It was all the two men could do to hold him back.
"Are you mad?" growled Zülfikar in his ear. "Would you betray us with your infernal curiosity?"
"The poor devil is in love with the girl!" whispered Clement.
At that moment there came the sound of a splash, as of some one leaping into the water and playing with its waves.
Sange Moarte frantically tore himself loose from his companions' arms, and with a furious yell rushed towards the basin.
At this yell Azrael, in all the maddening witchery of her charms, sprang out of her watery mirror, looked at the presumptuous wretch with flashing eyes, and cried savagely—
"Oglan! Seize him!"
The panther had hitherto remained motionless; but the moment his mistress called him to battle, he sprang up with a roar, seized the young Wallach, and threw him with a single jerk to the ground.