“Thou hast called me the son of a scorpion, Halima,” he said, in a loud voice. “Is it not true?”
“It is true,” she answered, with a venomous smile of hatred. “And thou hast said that the hedgehog’s foot, blessed by the great marabout of Tamacine, would avail naught against the deadly sickness of a dancing-girl. Is it not true?”
“It is true,” answered Ben-Abid.
“Thou art a liar!” cried Halima.
“And so art thou!” said Ben-Abid slowly.
A deep murmur rose from the crowd, which pressed more closely beneath the terrace, staring up at the scarlet figure upon it.
“If I am a liar thou canst not prove it!” cried Halima furiously. “I spit upon thee! I spit upon thee!”
And she bent down her feathered head from the terrace and spat passionately in his face.
Ben-Abid only laughed aloud.
“I can prove that I have spoken the truth,” he said. “But if I am indeed the son of a scorpion, as thou sayest, let my brothers speak for me. Let my brothers declare to all the Sahara that the truth is in my mouth. Sadok, remove thy turban!”