And even if he were angry?  She thought of his anger, and knew that at this moment she would risk it—­she would risk anything—­to see the woman in that tent.  Thinking with great rapidity in her nervous excitement and bitter jealousy, become tenfold more bitter now that the moment had arrived for her departure, she imagined what the woman must be:  probably some exquisite, fair Circassian, young, very young, fifteen or sixteen years old, or perhaps a maiden from the Fayyum, the region of lovely dark maidens with broad brows, oval faces, and long and melting black eyes.  Her fancy drew and painted marvellous girls in the night.  Then, as a louder note, almost like a sigh, came from the tent, she moved forward, lifted the canvas, and looked in.

The interior was unlike the interior of Baroudi’s tent.  Here nothing was beautiful, though nearly everything was gaudy.  The canvas was covered with coarse striped stuff, bright red and yellow, with alternate red and yellow rosettes all round the edge near the sand, which was strewn with bits of carpet on which enormous flowers seemed to be writhing in a wilderness of crude green and yellow leaves.  Fastened to the walls, in tarnished frames, were many little pictures—­oleographs of the most blatant type, chalk drawings of personages such as might people an ugly dream; men in uniforms with red noses and bulbous cheeks; dogs, cats, and sand-lizards, and coloured plates cut out of picture papers.  Mingled with these were several objects that Mrs. Armine guessed to be charms, a mus-haf, or copy of the Koran, enclosed in a silver case which hung from a string of yellow silk; one or two small scrolls and bits of paper covered with Arab writing; two tooth-sticks in a wooden tube, open at one end; a child’s shoe tied with string, to which were attached bits of coral and withered flowers; several tassels of shells mingled with bright blue and white beads; a glass bottle of blessed storax; and a quantity of Fatma hands, some very large and made of silver gilt, set with stones and lumps of a red material that looked like sealing-wax, others of silver and brass, small and practically worthless.  There was also the foot of some small animal set in a battered silver holder.  On a deal table stood a smoking oil lamp of mean design and cheap material.  Underneath it was a large wooden chest or coffer, studded with huge brass nails, clamped with brass, and painted a brilliant green.  Near it, touching the canvas wall, was a mattress covered with gaudy rugs that served as a bed.

In the tent there were two people.  Although the thin sound of the music had suggested a woman to Mrs. Armine, the player was not a woman, but a tall and large young man, dressed in a bright yellow jacket cut like a “Zouave,” wide drawers of white linen, yellow slippers, and the tarbush.  Round his waist there was a girdle, made of a long and narrow red and yellow shawl with fringes and tassels.  He was squatting cross-legged on the hideous carpet,