“But the bostangis should be more careful. Has not our master prohibited them from entering the gardens when we are here—when you are here? A man has entered, I tell you; I saw his shadow.”
“Of what shadow are you speaking? Stop—look!” and Baïla stopped before the negress.
“I saw it,” repeated the negress.
“The shadow of a tree—yes, that is possible.”
“Trees do not run, and it appeared to run.”
“You have been dreaming, my good Mariam,” and Baïla maintained so well that no one had been there, that she had seen nothing, but in a dream, that Mariam submissively feigned to believe her, and both prepared to return to the house.
They were half way there when, on turning an alley, the negress uttered a new cry, pointing to an individual who was escaping at full speed.
“Am I dreaming this time?” she said, and she was about to call for assistance, when the odalisk, placing her hand on her mouth, ordered her to keep silence. Mariam, who was devoted to her mistress, obeyed her.
Having returned to her apartment, Baïla reflected on her adventure. Adventures are rare in a harem life. She was intriguing there desperately, and would have been disquieted had she not had other cares. These, in their turn, occupied her thoughts.
In thinking of them she became fretful, angry; she crushed the rich stuffs which lay beside her. She even wept, but rather from passion than grief.