“Everything, my lady.”
Again the beautiful eyes were turned in my direction, and, as their inscrutable gaze rested upon me, a scheme—which, since it was never carried out, need not be described—presented itself to my mind. Following a brief but eloquent silence—for my answering glances were laden with significance:—
“O Mohammed,” said the Lady Zuleyka indolently, “in what manner doth a merchant, such as thyself, chastise his servants when their conduct displeaseth him?”
Mohammed er-Rahmân seemed somewhat at a loss for a reply, and stood there staring foolishly.
“I have whips for mine,” murmured the soft voice. “It is an old custom of my family.”
Slowly she cast her eyes in my direction once more.
“It seemed to me, O Saïd,” she continued, gracefully resting one jeweled hand upon the ebony table, “that thou hadst presumed to cast love-glances upon me. There is one waiting above whose duty it is to protect me from such insults. Miska!”—to the servant girl—“summon El-Kimri (The Dove).”
Whilst I stood there dumbfounded and abashed the girl called up the steps:
“El-Kimri! Come hither!”