Amid the amber sea, half immersed in the golden silks of the daïs, reclined a large and portly Sheikh; full and patriarchal his beard, wherein played amber tints, lofty and serene his brow, sweeping up to the snowy turban. From a mouthpiece of amber and gold he inhaled the scented smoke of a narghli. Behind him, upon a cushioned stool, knelt a female whose beauty of face and form was unmistakable, since it was undisguised by the filmy artistry of her attire. With a gigantic fan of peacock’s feathers, she cooled the Sheikh, and dispersed the flies which threatened to disturb his serenity. A second houri received in her hands the amber mouthpiece as it fell from her lord’s lips; a third, who evidently had been playing upon a lute, rose and glided from the apartment like an opium vision, as I entered between the guardian Scimitars.
I found myself thinking of Saint Saen’s music to Samson and Delilah; the barbaric strains of the exquisite bacchanale were beating on my brain.
Black Robe advanced and knelt upon the floor of the dîwan.
“We have brought the wretched malefactor into your glorious presence,” he said.
The Pasha (for I knew, beyond doubt, that I stood before Harûn Pasha) raised his eyes and fixed a stern gaze upon me. He gazed long and fixedly, and an odd change took place in his expression. He seemed about to address me, then, apparently changing his mind, he addressed the recumbent figure at his feet.
“Have the slaves returned with the female miscreant and her partner in Satan?” he demanded sternly.
“Lord of the age,” replied the other, rising upon his knees, “they are expected.”
“Let them be brought before me,” directed the Pasha, “upon the instant of their arrival. Has Misrûn confessed his complicity?”
“He fainted beneath the lash, excellency, but confessed that he slept—that pig who prayed without washing and whose birth was a calamity—on several occasions when accompanying the lady Zohara.”
“Leave us!” cried the Pasha. “But, first, unbind the prisoner.”