1S2 Ashes of Incense

mand that spoke to her. “You will wait. I will return.”

She lay there, hearing him go out; it was as though her body were weighted with stones, she could not have moved. And through her mind passed strange visions; like the dreams that the scent brought her: the dreams that she was coming to trust more than her waking fancies. Yes, she was very tired; even this indefatigable brain thing had given out. She could think no more, nor feel: she would sleep.

But just then, as she was curling into the cush- ions, the door opened softly, and Phaia stood there, her great hips swaying gently. But with that odd lightness of some heavy women, she stole over to the divan, and whispered: “Would the little rose like to go? The father of Barali is come, and it will be many hours—very many hours, until my master can return. An English lady would grow impatient Waiting so long; I have a chair to carry her to the side gate, if the little joy of Allah wishes to go P”

Dorofée sat up on her cushions. For a mo- ment she had stared at the woman, stupidly. Then a pale, understanding gleam came back into her eyes; and—suddenly—she laughed. The woman Phaia started at the sound.