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She had signed a paper pledging herself to return the emerald to Safti at the end of forty-eight hours, and to pay 125 francs for her possession of it during that time. And she wore the emerald on the forefinger of her left hand. On the following morning Madame de Rosnikoff said to the Princess: "I hate Tunis. It has an evil climate. The tea here is too strong, and I feel sure the drains are bad.
In a moment he was on our side of the earth wall, and talking busily, staring at me the while with unabashed curiosity. For few strangers come to Sidi-Amrane, and Smaïn had never wandered far. "What does he say?" I asked of Safti. "I tell him we shall be at Touggourt tomorrow night, and shall stay there a week. He answers that his heart is there with Oreïda." "What!
They were small and bright, and squinted horribly so horribly, that it was impossible to tell at what he was looking. These eyes gave to his face an expression of diabolic and ruthless vigilance and cunning. He seemed at the same time to be seeing everything and to be gazing definitely at nothing. "That is Safti, the jewel doctor," murmured Abdul in the ear of the Princess. "A jewel doctor!
She obeyed, and took out a very small and antique gold ring, in which was set a rather dull emerald. Safti drew it gently from her, and put it upon the forefinger of her left hand. It was so tiny that it would not pass beyond the joint of the finger, and it looked ugly and odd upon the Princess, who wore many beautiful rings.
Abdul spoke to Safti, who turned, squinted horribly at the Princess, and salaamed to her with a curious and contradictory dignity, turning his fingers, covered with jewels, towards the earth.
Then he played once more while the moon rose over the palm gardens, and Safti, lighting his pipe of keef with tender deliberateness, remarked placidly: "He would like to come with us to Touggourt and to die there at Oreïda's feet, but his father, Said-ben-Kouïdar, wishes him to remain at Sidi-Matou and to pack dates. He is young, and must obey. Therefore he is sad."
I stopped to listen, and looked round, searching the vistas between the palms. "Where does it come from?" I asked of Safti. His one eye blinked languidly. "From some gardener among the trees. All who dwell in Sidi-Matou are gardeners." The persistent flute gave forth a shower of notes that were like drops of water flung softly in our faces. "He is in love," added Safti with a slight yawn.
Round the room ran a divan covered with straw matting, and Safti now conducted the Princess ceremoniously to this, and handed her a cup of thick coffee, which he took from a brass tray that was placed upon a stand.
I grew drowsy in the keef-laden air, despite the incessant uproar of the pipes. Suddenly I started Safti had touched me. "There is Oreïda, Sidi." I looked, and saw a lonely dancer entering from the court, large, weary, crowned with gold, tufted with feathers, wrinkled, with greedy, fatigued eyes, and hands painted blood-red. She was like an idol in its dotage.
She has houses and many palm-trees, and she is much respected by the other dancers." A week later Safti and I were again at Sidi-Matou, on our way homeward through the desert. The moon was at the full now, and when we rode up to the Bordj the open space in front of it, between us and the village, was flooded with delicate light.
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