At the same moment Ayoub came into the room, without noise, and handed to Baroudi, who was sitting opposite to Mrs. Armine, with his left knee touching the rug and his right knee raised with his napkin laid over it, a basin of hammered bra.s.s with a cover, and a bra.s.s jug. Baroudi held forth his hands, and Ayoub poured water upon them, which disappeared into the basin through holes pierced in the cover. Then, making a cup of his hands turned upwards, Baroudi received more water into it, conveyed it to his mouth, rinsed his mouth elaborately, and spat out the water upon the cover of the basin. Ayoub carried away the basin and jug, Baroudi dried his hands on his napkin, and then muttered a word. It was "Bi-smi-llah!" but Mrs. Armine did not know that. She sat quite still, for a moment unseen, unthought of; she listened to the quavering voice, to the beaten drum and arghool, she smelt the incense, and she felt like one at a doorway peering in at an unknown world.
Almost immediately Ayoub came back, and they began the meal, which was perpetually accompanied by the music. Ayoub offered a red soup, a Kaw-ur-meh--meat stewed in a rich gravy with little onions--leaves of the vine containing a delicious sort of forcemeat, cuc.u.mbers in milk, some small birds pierced with silver skewers, spinach, and fried wheat flour mingled with honey. She was given a knife and fork and a spoon, all made of silver, and the plates were of silver, which did not harmonize well with the golden tray. Baroudi used only his fingers and pieces of bread in eating.
Mrs. Armine was hungry, and ate heartily. She knew nothing about Eastern cooking, but she was a gourmet, and realized that Baroudi"s cook was an accomplished artist in his own line. During the meal she was offered nothing to drink, but directly it was over Ayoub brought to her a beautiful cup of gold or gilded silver--she did not know which--and poured into it with ceremonial solemnity a small quant.i.ty of some liquid.
"What is it?" she asked Baroudi.
"Drink!" he replied.
She lifted the cup to her lips and drank a draught of water.
"Oh!" she said, with an intonation of surprised disappointment.
"_Lish rub el Moyeh en Nil awadeh!_" he said.
"What does that mean?"
""Who drinks Nile water must return.""
She smiled, lifted the cup again to her lips, and drank the last drop of water.
"Nile water! I understand."
"And now you will have some sherbet."
He spoke to Ayoub in Arabic. Ayoub took away the cup, brought a tall, delicate gla.s.s, and having thrown over his right arm an elaborately embroidered napkin, poured into it from a narrow vase of china a liquid the colour of which was a soft and velvety green.
"Is this really sherbet?" Mrs. Armine asked.
"Sherbet made of violets."
"How is it made?"
By crushing the flowers of violets, making them into a preserve with sugar, and boiling them for a long time.
Ayoub stayed by her while she drank, and when she had finished he offered her the embroidered napkin. She touched it with her lips.
"Do you like it?"
"It is very strange. But everything here is strange."
Ayoub brought once more to his master the basin with the cover and the jug, and Baroudi washed his hands and rinsed his mouth as at the beginning of the meal. After this ceremony he again muttered a word or words, rose to his feet, took Mrs. Armine"s left hand with his right, and led her to the divan. Ayoub brought coffee, lifted the golden tray from its stool, set the coffee on a smaller tray upon the stool close to the divan, and went out, carrying the golden tray very carefully. As he vanished, the music outside ceased with an abruptness, a lack of finality, that were startling to an European. The almost thrilling silence that succeeded was broken by a bird singing somewhere among the orange-trees. It was answered by another bird.
"They are singing the praises of G.o.d," said Baroudi, in a deep and slow voice, and as if he were speaking to himself.
"Those birds!"
She gazed at him in wonder. He looked at her with sombre eyes.
"You do not know these things."
Suddenly she felt like an ignorant and stupid child, like one unworthy of knowledge.
He sipped his coffee. He was now sitting in European fashion beside her on the divan, and his posture made it more difficult for her to accept his strange mentality; for he looked like a tremendously robust, yet very lithe and extremely handsome and determined young man, who might belong to a race of Southern Europe. Even with the tarbush upon his head his appearance was not unmistakably Eastern.
And this man, evidently quite seriously, talked to her about the birds singing to each other the praises of G.o.d.
"You ought to be differently dressed," she said.
"How?"
"In Egyptian clothes, not English flannels."
"Some day you shall see me like that," he said, rea.s.suringly. "I often wear the kuftan at night upon the _Loulia_."
"At night upon the _Loulia_! Then how on earth can I see you in it?"
She spoke with a sudden sharp irritation. To-day her marriage with Nigel seemed to her like a sword suspended above her, which would presently descend upon her, striking her to earth with all her capacity for happiness unused.
"You will see me with the drawers of linen, the sudeyree, the kuftan, the gibbeh--or, as says my father, jubbeh--and the turban on my head.
Only you must wait a little. But women do not like to wait for a pleasure. They are always in a hurry."
The cool egoism with which he accepted and commented on her admiration roused in her, not anger, but a sort of almost wondering respect. It seemed part of his strength. He lifted his eyebrows, threw back his head, showing his magnificent throat, and with the gesture that she had noticed in the garden of the Villa Androud thrust two fingers inside his low, soft collar, and kept them there while he added:
"They are like children, and must be treated as children. But they can be very clever, too, when they want to trick. I know that. They can be as cunning as foxes, and as light-footed and swift as gazelles. But all that they do and all that they are is just for men. Women are made for men, and they know it so well that it is only about men that they think.
I tell you that."
"No doubt it is true," she said, smilingly accepting his a.s.sertions.
"Women will run even after the Chinese shadow of a man if they are not shut close behind the grilles."
Mrs. Armine laughed outright.
"And so you Easterns generally keep them there."
"Well, and are we not wise? Are we not much wiser than the Mr. Armeens of Europe?"
His unexpected introduction of Nigel"s name gave her a little shock, and the bad taste of it for an instant distressed even her tarnished breeding. But the sensation vanished directly as she remembered his Eastern birth.
"And you?" she said. "Would you never trust a woman?"
"Never," he calmly returned. "All women are alike. If they see the Chinese shadow, they must run after it. They cannot help themselves."
"You seem to forget that men are for ever running after the Chinese shadows of women," she retorted.
"She thought of her own life, of how she had been worshipped and pursued, not _pour le bon motif_, but still--"
She would like him to know about all that.