"How is it made?"
"By crushing the flowers of violets, making them into a preserve with sugar, and boiling them for a long time.
Aïyoub stayed by her while she drank, and when she had finished he offered her the embroidered napkin. She touched it with her lips.
"Do you like it?"
"It is very strange. But everything here is strange."
Aïyoub brought once more to his master the basin with the cover and the jug, and Baroudi washed his hands and rinsed his mouth as at the beginning of the meal. After this ceremony he again muttered a word or words, rose to his feet, took Mrs. Armine's left hand with his right, and led her to the divan. Aïyoub brought coffee, lifted the golden tray from its stool, set the coffee on a smaller tray upon the stool close to the divan, and went out, carrying the golden tray very carefully. As he vanished, the music outside ceased with an abruptness, a lack of finality, that were startling to an European. The almost thrilling silence that succeeded was broken by a bird singing somewhere among the orange-trees. It was answered by another bird.
"They are singing the praises of God," said Baroudi, in a deep and slow voice, and as if he were speaking to himself.
"Those birds!"
She gazed at him in wonder. He looked at her with sombre eyes.
"You do not know these things."