I go to Paris and to my career, certain of my happy
destiny, sure of myself! For my opportunity I pay if I choose--pay
_what_ I choose--when and where it suits me to pay!----"

She slipped into French with a little laugh:

"Now go and lick thy fingers of whatever crumbs have stuck there. The
Count d'Eblis is doubtless licking his. Good appetite, my Ferez! Lick
away lustily, for God does not temper the jackal's appetite to his
opportunities!"

Ferez let his level gaze rest on her in silence.

"Well, trafficker in Eagles, dealer in love, vendor of youth, merchant
of souls, what strikes you silent?"

But he was thinking of something sharper than her tongue and less
subtle, which one day might strike her silent if she laughed too much
at Fate.

And, thinking, he showed his teeth again in that noiseless snicker
which was his smile and laughter too.

The girl regarded him for a moment, then deliberately mimicked his
smile:

"The dogs of Stamboul laugh that way, too," she said, baring her
pretty teeth. "What amuses you? Did the silly old Von-der-Goltz Pasha
promise you, also, a dish of Eagle?--old Von-der-Goltz with his
spectacles an inch thick and nothing living within what he carries
about on his two doddering old legs! There's a German!--who died
twenty years ago and still walks like a damned man--jingling his iron
crosses and mumbling his gums! Is it a resurrection from 1870 come to
foretell another war? And why are these Prussian vultures gathering
here in Stamboul? Can you tell me, Ferez?--these Prussians in Turkish
uniforms! Is there anything dying or dead here, that these buzzards
appear from the sky and alight? Why do they crowd and huddle in a
circle around Constantinople? Is there something dead in Persia? Is
the Bagdad railroad dying? Is Enver Bey at his last gasp? Is Talaat?
Or perhaps the savoury odour comes from the Yildiz----"

"Nihla! Is there nothing sacred--nothing thou fearest on earth?"

"Only old age--and thy smile, my Ferez. Neither agrees with me." She
stretched her arms lazily.

"Allons," she said, stifling a pleasant yawn with one slim hand,"--my
maid will wake below and miss me; and then the dogs of Stamboul yonder
will hear a solo such as they never heard before.... Tell me, Ferez,
do you know when we are to weigh anchor?"

"At sunrise."

"It is the same to me,"--she yawned again--"my maid is aboard and all
my luggage. And my Ferez, also.... Mon dieu! And what will Cyril have
to s