She bent her head in silence; yet a more graceful comprehension of his motive she could not have given than her glance alone gave.
Ben Arsli stroked his great beard; more moved than his Moslem dignity would show.
“Always so!” he muttered, “always so! My son, in some life before this, was not generosity your ruin?”
“Milady was about to purchase the lamp?” asked Cecil, avoiding the question. “Her Highness will not find anything like it in all Algiers.”
The lamp was taken down, and the conversation turned from himself.
“May I bear it to your carriage, madame?” he asked, as she moved to leave, having made it her own, while her footman carried out the smaller articles she had bought to the equipage. She bowed in silence; she was very exclusive, she was not wholly satisfied with herself for having conversed thus with a Chasseur d'Afrique in a Moor's bazaar. Still, she vaguely felt pity for this man; she equally vaguely desired to serve him.
“Wait, M. Victor!” she said, as he closed the door of her carriage. “I accepted your chessmen last night, but you are very certain that it is impossible I can retain them on such terms.”
A shadow darkened his face.
“Let your dogs break them then, madame. They shall not come back to me.”
“You mistake—I did not mean that I would send them back. I simply desire to offer you some equivalent for them. There must be something that you wish for?—something which would be acceptable to you in the life you lead?”