"Excellent," she said now in her careful, unfamiliar English to Mrs.
Hendricks, and in French to Aimée she added, with a hint of
asperity, "Do give her a word. She is trying to please you."

"It is very nice, Mrs. Hendricks," said the girl dutifully, bringing
her glance back from that far sky.

The little seamstress was instantly all vivacity. "H'and now for the
sash--shall we 'ave it so--or so?" she demanded, attaching the wisp
of tulle experimentally.

"As you wish it.... It is very nice," Aimée repeated vaguely. She
picked up a bit of the shimmering stuff and spread it curiously
across her fingers. A dinner gown.... When she wore this she would
be a wife.... The wife of Hamdi Bey.... A shiver went through her
and she dropped the tulle swiftly.

In ten days more....

Gone was her first rush of sustaining compassion. Gone was her
fear for her father and her tenderness to him. Only this numb
coldness, this dumb, helpless certainty of a destiny about to be
accomplished.... Only this hopeless, useless brooding upon that
strange brief past.

There was a stir at the door and on her shuffling, slippered feet
old Miriam entered, handing some packages to Madame de Coulevain.
Then she turned to revolve about the bright figure of her young
mistress, her eyes glistening fondly, her dark fingers touching a