Mon pauvere ami, he said soothingly, she is actually the propertee of nobodee at present. Cyril, they say, is following her quite ready for anything marriage
What!
Ferez shrugged:
That is the gosseep. No doubt som man of wealth, more acceptable to her
I wish to meet her! said dEblis.
Ah! That is, of course, not easee
Why?
Ferez laughed:
Ask yoself the question again! Excellenz and his guests have gone quite mad ovaire Nihla
I care nothing for them, retorted dEblis thickly; I wish to know her I wish to know her!.. Do you understand?
After a silence, Ferez turned in the moonlight and looked at the Count dEblis.
And your newspapaire Le Mot dOrdre?
Yes If you get her for me.
You sell to me for two million francs the control stock in Le Mot dOrdre?
Yes.
An the two million, eh?
I shall use my influence with Gerhardt. That is all I can do. If your Emperor chooses to decorate him something the Red Eagle, third class, perhaps
I attend to those, smiled Ferez. Hits ver fonny, dEblis, how I am thinking about those Red Eagles all time since I know Gerhardt. I spik to Von-der-Goltz de votre part, si vous le voulez? Oui? Alors
Ask her to supper aboard the yacht.
God knows
The Count dEblis said through closed teeth:
There is the first woman I ever really wanted in all my life!.. I am standing here now waiting for her waiting to be presented to her now.
I spik to Von-der-Goltz Pasha, said Ferez; and he slipped through the palms and orange trees and vanished.
For half an hour the Count dEblis stood there, motionless in the moonlight.
She came about that time, on the arm of Ferez Bey, her fathers friend of many years.
And Ferez left her there in the creamy Turkish moonlight on the flowering terrace, alone with the Count dEblis.
When Ferez came again, long after midnight, with Excellenz on one arm and the proud and happy Adolf Gerhardt on the other, the whole cycle of a little drama had been played to a conclusion between those two shadowy figures under the flowering almonds on the terrace between this slender, dark-eyed girl and this big, bulky, heavy-visaged man of the world.
And the man had been beaten and the girl had laid down every term. And the compact was this: that she was to be launched in Paris; she was merely to borrow any sum needed, with privilege to acquit the debt within the year; that, if she ever came to care for this man sufficiently, she was to become only one species of masculine property a legal wife.
And to every condition and finally even to the last, the man had bowed his heavy, burning head.
DEblis! began Gerhardt, almost stammering in his joy and pride. His highness tells me that I am to have an order an Imperial d-decoration
DEblis stared at him out of unseeing eyes; Nihla laughed outright, alas, too early wise and not even troubling her lovely head to wonder why a decoration had been asked for this burly, bushy-bearded man from nowhere.
But within his sinuous, twisted soul Ferez writhed exultingly, and patted Gerhardt on the arm, and patted dEblis, too dared even to squirm visibly closer to Excellenz, like a fawning dog that fears too much to venture contact in his wriggling demonstrations.
You take with you our pretty wonder-child to Paris to be launched, I hear, remarked Excellenz, most affably, to dEblis. And to Nihla: And upon a yacht fit for an emperor, I understand. Ach! Such a going forth is only heard of in the Arabian Nights. Eh 13 bien, ma petite, go West, conquer, and reign! It is a prophecy!
And Nihla threw back her head and laughed her full-throated laughter under the Turkish moon.
Later, Ferez, walking with the Ambassador, replied humbly to the curt question:
Yes, I have become his jackal. But always at the orders of Excellenz.
Later still, aboard the Mirage, Ferez stood alone by the after-rail, staring with ratty eyes at the blackness beyond the New Bridge.
Oh, God, be merciful! he whispered. He had often said it on the eve of crime. Even an Eurasian rat has emotions. And Ferez had been in love with Nihla many years, and was selling her now at a price selling her and Adolf Gerhardt and the Count dEblis and France all he had to barter for he had sold his soul too long ago to remember even what he got for it.
The silence seemed more intense for the sounds that made it audible. From, the unlighted cities on the seven hills came an unbroken howling of dogs; transparent waves of the limpid Bosphorus slapped the vessels sides, making a mellow and ceaseless clatter. Far away beyond Galata Quay, in the inner reek of unseen Stamboul, the notes of a Turkish flute stole out across the darkness, where some Tzigane some unseen wretch in rags was playing the melancholy song of Mourad. And, mournfully responsive to the reedy complaint of a homeless wanderer from a nation without a home, the homeless dogs of Islam wailed their miserere under the Prophets moon.
The tragic wolf-song wavered from hill to hill; from the Fields of the Dead to the Seven Towers, from 14 Kassim to Tophane, seeming to swell into one dreadful, endless plaint:
My God, why hast Thou forsaken me?
And me! muttered Ferez, shivering in the windy vapours from the Black Sea, which already dampened his face with their creeping summer chill.
Ferez!
He turned slowly. Swathed in a white wool bernous, Nihla stood there in the foggy moonlight.
Why? she enquired, without preliminaries and with the unfeigned curiosity of a child.
He did not pretend to misunderstand her in French:
Thou knowest, Nihla. I have never touched thy heart. I could do nothing for thee
Except to sell me, she smiled, interrupting him in English, without the slightest trace of accent.
But Ferez preferred the refuge of French:
Except to launch thee and make possible thy career, he corrected her very gently.
I thought you were in love with me?
I have loved thee, Nihla, since thy childhood.
Is there anything on earth or in paradise, Ferez, that you would not sell for a price?
I tell thee
Zut! I know thee, Ferez! she mocked him, slipping easily into French. What was my price? Who pays thee, Colonel Ferez? This big, shambling, world-wearied Count, who is, nevertheless, afraid of me? Did he pay thee? Or was it this rich American, Gerhardt? Or was it Von-der-Goltz? Or Excellenz?
Nihla! Thou knowest me
Her clear, untroubled laughter checked him:
I know you, Ferez. That is why I ask. That is why I shall have no reply from you. Only my wits can ever answer me any questions.
She stood laughing at him, swathed in her white wool, looming like some mocking spectre in the misty moonlight of the after-deck.
Oh, Ferez, she said in her sweet, malicious voice, there was a curse on Midas, too! You play at high finance; you sell what you never had to sell, and you are paid for it. All your life you have been busy selling, re-selling, bargaining, betraying, seeking always gain where only loss is possible loss of all that justifies a man in daring to stand alive before the God that made him!.. And yet that which you call love that shadowy emotion which you have also sold to-night I think you really feel for me Yes, I believe it But it, too, has its price What was that price, Ferez?
Believe me, Nihla
Oh, Ferez, you ask too much! No! Let me tell you, then. The price was paid by that American, who is not one but a German.
That is absurd!
Why the Red Eagle, then? And the friendship of Excellenz? What is he then, this Gerhardt, but a millionaire? Why is nobility so gracious then? What does Gerhardt give for his Red Eagle? for the politeness of Excellenz? for the crooked smile of a Bavarian Baroness and the lifted lorgnette of Austria? What does he give for me? Who buys me after all? Enver? Talaat? Hilmi? Who sells me? Excellenz? Von-der-Goltz? You? And who pays for me? Gerhardt, who takes his profit in Red Eagles and offers me to dEblis for something in exchange to please Excellenz and you? And what, at the end of the bargaining, does dEblis pay for me pay through Gerhardt to you, and through you to Excellenz, and through Excellenz to the Kaiser Wilhelm II
Ferez, showing his teeth, came close to her and spoke very softly:
See how white is the moonlight off Seraglio Point, my Nihla!.. It is no whiter than those loveliest ones who lie fathoms deep below these little silver waves Each with her bowstring snug about her snowy neck As fair and young, as warm and fresh and sweet as thou, my Nihla.
He smiled at her; and if the smile stiffened an instant on her lips, the next instant her light, dauntless laughter mocked him.
For a price, she said, you would sell even Life to that old miser, Death! Then listen what you have done, little smiling, whining jackal of his Excellency! 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 dEblis is doubtless licking his. Good appetite, my Ferez! Lick away lustily, for God does not temper the jackals 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 17 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! Theres 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 say when he arrives to find me vanished! It is, perhaps, well for us that we shall be at sea!
Her quick laughter pealed; she turned with a careless 18 gesture of salute, friendly and contemptuous; and her white bernous faded away in the moonlit fog.
And Ferez Bey stood staring after her out of his near-set, beady eyes, loving her, desiring her, fearing her, unrepentant that he had sold her, wondering whether the day might dawn when he would find it best to kill her for the prosperity and peace of mind of the only living being in whose service he never tired himself.
I
A SHADOW DANCE
Three years later Destiny still wore a rosy face for Nihla Quellen. And, for a young American of whom Nihla had never even heard, Destiny still remained the laughing jade he had always known, beckoning him ever nearer, with the coquettish promise of her curved forefinger, to fame and wealth immeasurable.
Seated now on a moonlit lawn, before his sketching easel, this optimistic young man, whose name was Barres, continued to observe the movements of a dim white figure which had emerged from the villa opposite, and was now stealing toward him across the dew-drenched grass.
When the white figure was quite near it halted, holding up filmy skirts and peering intently at him.
May one look? she inquired, in that now celebrated voice of hers, through which ever seemed to sound a hint of hidden laughter.
Certainly, he replied, rising from his folding camp stool.
She tiptoed over the wet grass, came up beside him, gazed down at the canvas on his easel.
Can you really see to paint? Is the moon bright enough? she asked.
Yes. But one has to be familiar with ones palette.
Oh. You seem to know yours quite perfectly, monsieur.
Enough to mix colours properly.
I didnt realise that painters ever actually painted pictures by moonlight.
Its a sort of hit or miss business, but the notes made are interesting, he explained.
What do you do with these moonlight studies?
Use them as notes in the studio when a moonlight picture is to be painted.
Are you then a realist, monsieur?
As much of a realist as anybody with imagination can be, he replied, smiling at her charming, moonlit face.
I understand. Realism is merely honesty plus the imagination of the individual.
A delightful mot, madam
Mademoiselle, she corrected him demurely. Are you English?
American.
Oh. Then may I venture to converse with you in English? She said it in exquisite English, entirely without accent.
You are English! he exclaimed under his breath.
No I dont know what I am Isnt it charming out here? What particular view are you painting?
The Seine, yonder.
She bent daintily over his sketch, holding up the skirts of her ball-gown.
Your sketch isnt very far advanced, is it? she inquired seriously.
Not very, he smiled.
They stood there together in silence for a while, 21 looking out over the moonlit river to the misty, tree-covered heights.
Through lighted rows of open windows in the elaborate little villa across the lawn came lively music and the distant noise of animated voices.
Do you know, he ventured smilingly, that your skirts and slippers are soaking wet?
I dont care. Isnt this June night heavenly?