He was dressed in a long blue gabardine, more suited to the sunny banks
of the Nile than to a fair in Paris, and its colour could hardly be seen
for dirt. On his head was the national tarboosh.

A rug lay at one side of the tent, and from under it he took a goatskin
sack. He placed it on the ground in the middle of the circle formed by
the seats and crouched down on his haunches. Margaret shuddered, for the
uneven surface of the sack moved strangely. He opened the mouth of it.
The woman in the corner listlessly droned away on the drum, and
occasionally uttered a barbaric cry. With a leer and a flash of his
bright teeth, the Arab thrust his hand into the sack and rummaged as a
man would rummage in a sack of corn. He drew out a long, writhing snake.
He placed it on the ground and for a moment waited, then he passed his
hand over it: it became immediately as rigid as a bar of iron. Except
that the eyes, the cruel eyes, were open still, there might have been no
life in it.

'Look,' said Haddo. 'That is the miracle which Moses did before Pharaoh.'

Then the Arab took a reed instrument, not unlike the pipe which Pan
in the hills of Greece played to the dryads, and he piped a weird,
monotonous tune. The stiffness broke away from the snake suddenly, and
it lifted its head and raised its long body till it stood almost on the
tip of its tail, and it swayed slowly to and fro.

Oliver Haddo seemed extraordinarily fascinated. He leaned forward with
eager face, and his unnatural eyes were fixed on the charmer with an
indescribable expression. Margaret drew back in terror.