"I always do live for the day as it comes," she continued. "In English there's a saying, 'Eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow—'"
"To-morrow?"
"'To-morrow we die.'"
"Are you frightened of death?" he said.
There was an open contempt in his voice.
"You aren't?"
A light that she had never seen in them before shone in his eyes. Only from the torches of fatalism does such a light sometimes beacon out, showing an edge of the soul. It was gone almost before she had time to see it.
"Among men I may talk of such things," he said, "but not with women. Do you like the leaves of the roses?"
He held his knife ready above the sweetmeat.
"No; I don't want any more. I don't like it very much. The taste of it is rather sickly. Sit down, Baroudi."