"This is the harem," said the proprietor. We entered an outer room, he drew a thick curtain which hung against one of the walls. An opening now appeared: stooping low, I entered the inner apartment. It was furnished, or rather unfurnished, like the one set apart for the Usebashe and myself. A pan of live charcoal stood in one corner. In the other, reclining on a quantity of silk cushions, was the wife of my host.
She was enveloped from head to foot in a sheet made of some gauze-like material. There were so many folds that it was impossible to distinguish her features or even divine the contour of her form. Her feet, which were very small and stockingless, were exposed to view. She had taken them out of two tiny white slippers which lay by the side of the charcoal pan, and was nervously tapping the ground with her heel.
"She is alarmed," said my host. "Be not alarmed," he added, turning to his wife. "It is the hakim who has come to make you well."
These remarks did not tranquillize the lady. Her heel tapped the ground more quickly than before, the whole of her body shook like an aspen-leaf.
"She has never seen any man save myself in the harem," said her husband; "and you—you are a European."
"What is the nature of her illness?"
"She is in a delicate state of health."
"Can I look at her tongue?"
There was a whispered conversation with the lady. By this time she was a little more calm. Removing the folds of her veil, she allowed the tip of a very red little tongue to escape from her lips.
"Well, what do you think of it?" said my host, who was taking the greatest interest in these proceedings.