I took a few steps forward mechanically, then paused, rooted to the spot, and rubbed my eyes.

I was dazzled by the sight of the sky.

Several hours of shaded light had unaccustomed me to daylight.  It poured in through one whole side of the huge room.

The room was in the lower part of this mountain, which was more honeycombed with corridors and passages than an Egyptian pyramid.  It was on a level with the garden which I had seen in the morning from the balcony, and seemed to be a continuation of it; the carpet extended out under the great palm trees and the birds flew about the forest of pillars in the room.

By contrast, the half of the room untouched by direct light from the oasis seemed dark.  The sun, setting behind the mountain, painted the garden paths with rose and flamed with red upon the traditional flamingo which stood with one foot raised at the edge of the sapphire lake.

Suddenly I was bowled over a second time.

I felt a warm, silky touch, a burning breath on my neck.  Again the mocking growl which had so disturbed me in the corridor.

With a wrench, I pulled myself free and sent a chance blow at my assailant.  The cry, this time of pain and rage, broke out again.

It was echoed by a long peal of laughter.  Furious, I turned to look for the insolent onlooker, thinking to speak my mind.  And then my glance stood still.

Antinea was before me.

In the dimmest part of the room, under a kind of arch lit by the mauve rays from a dozen incense-lamps, four women lay on a heap of many-colored cushions and rare white Persian rugs.

I recognized the first three as Tuareg women, of a splendid regular beauty, dressed in magnificent robes of white silk embroidered in gold.  The fourth, very dark skinned, almost negroid, seemed younger.  A tunic of red silk enhanced the dusk of her face, her arms and her bare feet.  The four were grouped about a sort of throne of white rugs, covered with a gigantic lion’s skin, on which, half raised on one elbow, lay Antinea.

Antinea!  Whenever I saw her after that, I wondered if I had really looked at her before, so much more beautiful did I find her.  More beautiful?  Inadequate word.  Inadequate language!  But is it really the fault of the language or of those who abuse the word?

One could not stand before her without recalling the woman for whom Ephractoeus overcame Atlas, of her for whom Sapor usurped the scepter of Ozymandias, for whom Mamylos subjugated Susa and Tentyris, for whom Antony fled....

    O tremblant coeur humain, si jamais tu vibras
    C’est dans l’etreinte altiere et chaude de ses bras.

An Egyptian klaft fell over her abundant blue-black curls.  Its two points of heavy, gold-embroidered cloth extended to her slim hips.  The golden serpent, emerald-eyed, was clasped about her little round, determined forehead, darting its double tongue of rubies over her head.