“As she cried out the mirage faded, the Arab vanished, the thud of the horse’s hoofs died in her ears, and Tahar, the dragoman, glided round the tent, and stood before her. His eyes gleamed in the moonlight like ebon jewels.
“‘Hush!’ he whispered, ‘mademoiselle sees the mirage?’
“Mademoiselle could not speak. She stared into the eyes of Tahar, and hers were dilated with wonder.
“He drew nearer to her.
“‘Mademoiselle has seen again the horseman and his burden.’
“She bowed her head. All things seemed dream-like to her. Tahar’s voice was low and monotonous, and sounded far away.
“‘It is fate,’ he said. He paused, gazing upon her.
“‘In the tents they all sleep,’ he murmured. ‘Even the watchman sleeps, for I have given him a powder of hashish, and hashish gives long dreams—long dreams.’
“From beneath his robe he drew a small box, opened it, and showed to mademoiselle a dark brown powder, which he shook into a tiny cup of water.
“‘Mademoiselle shall drink, as the watchman has drunk,’ he said—‘shall drink and dream.’