"Not a very cheerful corner, is it? Some of these places are regular holes, don'cher know; but I daresay it's all right inside."

"You have never been inside?"

"Never." And Fulkeward lowered his voice: "Look up there; there's the beast that keeps everybody out!"

Gervase followed his glance, and perceived behind the projecting carved lattice-work of one of the windows a dark, wrinkled face and two gleaming eyes which, even at that distance, had, or appeared to have, a somewhat sinister expression.

"He's the nastiest type of Nubian I have ever seen," pursued Fulkeward.

"Looks just like a galvanized corpse."

Gervase smiled, and perceiving a long bell-handle at the gateway, pulled it sharply. In another moment the Nubian appeared, his aspect fully justifying Lord Fulkeward's description of him. The parchment-like skin on his face was yellowish-black, and wrinkled in a thousand places; his lips were of a livid blue, and were drawn up and down above and below the teeth in a kind of fixed grin, while the dense brilliance of his eyes was so fierce and fiery as to suggest those of some savage beast athirst for prey.

"Madame la Princesse Ziska" began Gervase, addressing his unfascinating object with apparent indifference to his hideousness.

The Nubian's grinning lips stretched themselves wider apart as, in a thick, snarling voice he demanded:

"Votre nom?"

"Armand Gervase."

"Entrez!"

"Et moi?" queried Fulkeward, with a conciliatory smile.

"Non! Pas vous. Monsieur Armand Gervase, seul!"

Fulkeward gave a resigned shrug of his shoulders; Gervase looked round at him ere he crossed the threshold of the mysterious habitation.

"I'm sorry you have to walk back alone."

"Don't mention it," said Fulkeward affably. "You see, you have come on business. You're going to paint the Princess's picture; and I daresay this blessed old rascal knows that I want nothing except to look at his mistress and wonder what she's made of."

"What she's made of?" echoed Gervase in surprise. "Don't you think she's made like other women?"

"No; can't say I do. She seems all fire and vapor and eyes in the middle, don'cher know. Oh, I'm an a.s.s--always was--but that's the feeling she gives me. Ta-ta! Wish you a pleasant morning!"

He nodded and strolled away, and Gervase hesitated yet another moment, looking full at the Nubian, who returned him stare for stare.

"Maintenant?" he began.

"Oui, maintenant," echoed the Nubian.

"La Princesse, ou est elle?"

"La!" and the Nubian pointed down a long, dark pa.s.sage beyond which there seemed to be the glimmer of green palms and other foliage. "Elle vous attend, Monsieur Armand Gervase! Entrez! Suivez!"

Slowly Gervase pa.s.sed in, and the great tomb-like door closed upon him with a heavy clang. The whole long, bright day pa.s.sed, and he did not reappear; not a human foot crossed the lonely street and nothing was seen there all through the warm sunshiny hours save the long, black shadows on the pavement, which grew longer and darker as the evening fell.

CHAPTER VII.

Within the palace of the Princess Ziska a strange silence reigned. In whatever way the business of her household was carried on, it was evidently with the most absolute noiselessness, for not a sound disturbed the utter stillness environing her. She herself, clad in white garments that clung about her closely, displaying the perfect outlines of her form, stood waiting for her guest in a room that was fairly dazzling to the eye in its profusion of exquisitely a.s.sorted and harmonized colors, as well as impressive to the mind in its suggestions of the past rather than of the present. Quaint musical instruments of the fashion of thousands of years ago hung on the walls or lay on brackets and tables, but no books such as our modern time produces were to be seen; only tied-up bundles of papyri and curious little tablets of clay inscribed with mysterious hieroglyphs. Flowers adorned every corner--many of them strange blossoms which a connoisseur would have declared to be unknown in Egypt,--palms and ferns and foliage of every description were banked up against the walls in graceful profusion, and from the latticed windows the light filtered through colored squares, giving a kind of rainbow-effect to the room, as though it were a scene in a dream rather than a reality. And even more dream-like than her surroundings was the woman who awaited the approach of her visitor, her eyes turned towards the door--fiery eyes filled with such ardent watchfulness as seemed to burn the very air. The eyes of a hawk gleaming on its prey,--the eyes of a famished tiger in the dark, were less fraught with terrific meaning than the eyes of Ziska as she listened attentively to the on-coming footsteps through the outside corridor which told her that Gervase was near.

"At last!" she whispered, "at last!" The next moment the Nubian flung the door wide open and announced "Monsieur Armand Gervase!"

She advanced with all the wonderful grace which distinguished her, holding out both her slim, soft hands. Gervase caught them in his own and kissed them fervently, whereupon the Nubian retired, closing the door after him.

"You are very welcome, Monsieur Gervase," said the Princess then, speaking with a measured slowness that was attractive as well as soothing to the ear. "You have left all the dear English people well at the Gezireh Palace? Lady Fulkeward was not too tired after her exertions at the ball? And you?"

But Gervase was gazing at her in a speechless confusion of mind too great for words. A sudden, inexplicable emotion took possession of him,--an emotion to which he could give no name, but which stupefied him and held him mute. Was it her beauty which so dazzled his senses?

Was it some subtle perfume in the room that awoke a dim haunting memory? Or what was it that seemed so strangely familiar? He struggled with himself, and finally spoke out his thought:

"I have seen you before, Princess; I am quite sure I have! I thought I had last night; but to-day I am positive about it. Strange, isn't it? I wonder where we really met?"

Her dark eyes rested on him fully.

"I wonder!" she echoed, smiling. "The world is so small, and so many people nowadays make the 'grand tour,' that it is not at all surprising we should have pa.s.sed each other en route through our journey of life."

Gervase still hesitated, glancing about him with a singularly embarra.s.sed air, while she continued to watch him intently. Presently his sensations, whatever they were, pa.s.sed off, and gradually recovering his equanimity, he became aware that he was quite alone with one of the most fascinating women he had ever seen. His eyes flashed, and he smiled.

"I have come to paint your picture," he said softly. "Shall I begin?"

She had seated herself on a silken divan, and her head rested against a pile of richly-embroidered cushions. Without waiting for her answer, he threw himself down beside her and caught her hand in his.

"Shall I paint your picture?" he whispered. "Or shall I make love to you?"

She laughed,--the sweet, low laugh that somehow chilled his blood while it charmed his hearing.

"Whichever you please," she answered. "Both performances would no doubt be works of art!"

"What do you mean?"

"Can you not understand? If you paint my picture it will be a work of art. If you make love to me it will equally be a work of art: that is, a composed thing--an elaborate study."

"Bah! Love is not a composed thing," said Gervase, leaning closer to her. "It is wild, and full of libertinage as the sea."

"And equally as fickle," added the Princess composedly, taking a fan of feathers near her and waving it to and fro. "Man's idea of love is to take all he can get from a woman, and give her nothing in return but misery sometimes, and sometimes death."

"You do not,--you cannot think that!" said Gervase, looking at her dazzling face with a pa.s.sion of admiration he made no attempt to conceal. "Men on the whole are not as cruel or as treacherous as women.

I would swear, looking at you, that, beautiful as you are, you are cruel, and that is perhaps why I love you! You are like a splendid tigress waiting to be tamed!"

"And you think you could tame me?" interposed Ziska, looking at him with an inscrutable disdain in her black eyes.

"Yes, if you loved me!"