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.