"Pale hands I loved beside the Shalimar. Where are you now? Who lies
beneath your spell?"
The voice came nearer and he swept in, still singing, and came to her.
"Pale hands, pink tipped," he sang, stopping in front of her and
catching her fingers in his up to his lips, but she tore them away
before he kissed them.
"You do know English?" she cried sharply, her eyes searching his.
He flung himself on the divan beside her with a laugh. "Because I sing
an English song?" he replied in French. "La! la! I heard a
Spanish boy singing in 'Carmen' once in Paris who did not know a word
of French beside the score. He learned it parrot-like, as I learn your
English songs," he added, smiling.
She watched him light a cigarette, and her forehead wrinkled
thoughtfully. "It was you who sang outside the hotel in Biskra that
night?" she asked at last, more statement than question.
"One is mad sometimes, especially when the moon is high," he replied
teasingly.
"And was it you who came into my bedroom and put the blank cartridges
in my revolver?"
His arm stole round her, drawing her to him, and he lifted her head up
so that he could look into her eyes. "Do you think that--I would have
allowed anybody else to go to your room at night?--I, an Arab, when I
meant you for myself?"
"You were so sure?"
He laughed softly, as if the suggestion that any plan of his could be
liable to miscarriage amused him infinitely, and the smouldering
passion flamed up in his dark eyes. He strained her to him hungrily, as
if her slim body lying against his had awakened the sleeping fires
within him. She struggled against the pressure of his arm, averting her
head.
"Always cold?" he chided. "Kiss me, little piece of ice."
She longed to, and it almost broke her heart to persevere in her
efforts to repulse him. A wild desire seized her to tell him that she
loved him, to make an end once and for all of the misery of doubt and
fear that was sapping her strength from her, and abide by the issue.
But the spark of hope that lived in her heart gave her courage, and she
fought down the burning words that sought utterance, forcing
indifference into her eyes and a mutinous pout to her lips.
His black brows drew together slowly. "Still disobedient? You said you
would obey me. I loathe the English, but I thought their word----"