He found what he wanted. A sweet and wonderful bit of wood, carved like lace, with green and purple tassels.
It was when he had it safe in his pocket, in a box that was gay with yellow and green and gold, that he was aware of voices in the back of the shop.
There were tables where tea was served to special customers—at the expense of the management. Thus a vulgar bargain became as it were a hospitality—you bought teakwood and had tea; carved ivories, and were rewarded with little cakes.
In that dim space under a low hung lamp, Marie-Louise talked with the fat Armenian.
He was the same Armenian who had told her fortune at Coney. He stood by Marie-Louise's side while she drank her tea, and spoke to her of the poet-king with whom she had walked on the banks of the Nile.
Richard approaching asked, "How did you happen to come here, Marie-Louise?"
"I often come. I like it. It is next to traveling in far countries." She indicated the fat Armenian. "He tells me about things that happened to me—in the ages—when I lived before."
A slender youth in white silk with a crimson sash brought tea for Richard. But he refused it. "I am on my way to lunch, Marie-Louise. Will you go with me?"
She hesitated and glanced at the fat Armenian. "I've some things to buy."
"I'll wait."