In the mosaic floor were pictures cut in colored stones, and the ceiling was a silken canopy as filmy and as delicately blue as the sky on a summer's night. The floor was strewn with richly embroidered pillows, couches, rugs and ottomans; and here and there were palm trees and beds of flowers and grottoes. A solitary light, representing the moon, showed through the silken canopy in whose folds little lights sparkled like far-off stars.
Thorndyke looked at the princess inquiringly. She was bewildered.
“I have no idea where we are,” she murmured. “I am sure I have never been here before; but there is another apartment beyond. Listen! I hear cries.”
“Some one in distress,” he answered, and he drew her across the room and through a door into another room more beautiful than the one they had just left. Here, huddled together at a window overlooking the court, were six or eight beautiful young women. They were staring out into the darkness, and moaning and muttering low cries of despair.
“It is my father's ladies,” ejaculated the princess aghast. “He would be angry if he knew we had come here. No one but himself enters these apartments.”
Just then one of the women turned a lovely and despairing face toward them, and came forward and knelt at the feet of Bernardino.
“Oh, save us, Princess,” she cried.
“Be calm,” said the princess, touching the white brow of the woman. “The danger may soon pass; this portion of the palace is too strongly built for them to injure it.” Then she turned to Thorndyke: “We must hasten on and find our way down; it would never do for us to be seen here.” Then she turned to the kneeling woman and said gently: “I hope you will say nothing to the king of this; we lost our way in trying to get down from the roof.”
“I will not,” gladly promised the woman, and seeing that Bernardino knew not which way to turn, she guided them to a door opening into a dimly-lighted corridor. “It will take you out to the balconies and down to the audience-chamber,” she said. The princess thanked her, and she and the Englishman descended several flights of stairs. Reaching one of the balconies they met the denser darkness of the outside and the deafening clang and clamor of the multitude. There was no light of any kind, and Thorndyke and his charge had to press close against the balustrade of the balcony to keep from being crushed by the mad torrent of humanity.
Now and then a strident voice would rise above the din:—