The invitations stated that at the proper hour the old original Sultana would call personally, and conduct the young ladies to the palace; and she did so.  They thought, at the time, she bore a striking resemblance to a Grand Vizier with his beard shaven off, and this led them into some desultory reflections upon the sin of nepotism and family favour at Court; but, like all moral reflections, these came to nothing.  The old original Sultana’s attire, also, was, with the exception of a reticule and fan, conspicuously epicene; but, in a country where popular notions of sex are somewhat confused, this excited no surprise.

As the three marched off in stately array, poor little deserted Pollimariar stood cowering at one side, with her fingers spread loosely upon her eyes, weeping like—­a crocodile.  The Sultana said it was late; they would have to make haste.  She had not fetched a cab, however, and a recent inundation of dogs very much impeded their progress.  By-and-by the dogs became shallower, but it was near eleven o’clock before they arrived at the Sublime Porte—­very old and fruity.  A janizary standing here split his visage to grin, but it was surprising how quickly the Sultana had his head off.

Pretty soon afterwards they came to a low door, where the Sultana whistled three times and kicked at the panels.  It soon yielded, disclosing two gigantic Nubian eunuchs, black as the ace of clubs, who stared at first, but when shown a very cleverly-executed signet-ring of paste, knocked their heads against the ground with respectful violence.  Then one of them consulted a thick book, and took from a secret drawer two metal badges numbered 7,394 and 7,395, which he fastened about the necks of the now frightened girls, who had just observed that the Sultana had vanished.  The numbers on the badges showed that this would be a very crowded ball.

The other black now advanced with a measuring tape, and began gravely measuring Djainan from head to heel.  She ventured to ask the sable guardian with what article of dress she was to be fitted.

“Bedad, thin, av ye must know,” said he, grinning, “it is to be a sack.”

“What! a sacque for a ball?”

“Indade, it’s right ye are, mavourneen; it is fer a ball—­fer a cannon-ball—­as will make yer purty body swim to the bothom nately as ony shtone.”

And the eunuch toyed lovingly with his measuring-tape, which the wretched girls now observed was singularly like a bow-string.

“O, sister,” shrieked Djainan, “this is—­”

“O, sister,” shrieked Djulya, “this is—­”

“That horrid—­”

“That horrid—­”

"Harem!"

It was even so.  A minute later the betrayed maidens were carried, feet-foremost-and-fainting, through a particularly dirty portal, over which gleamed the infernal legend:  “Who enters here leaves soap behind!” I wash my hands of them.

[Illustration]