in order to go sufficiently slowly, either I had to keep my leg some
seconds in the air at every step, or else to advance with a full stop
between each stride, like Mary Queen of Scots going to execution in a
play. Billali was not good at crawling, I suppose his years stood in the
way, and our progress up that apartment was a very long affair. I was
immediately behind him, and several times I was sorely tempted to help
him on with a good kick. It is so absurd to advance into the presence of
savage royalty after the fashion of an Irishman driving a pig to market,
for that is what we looked like, and the idea nearly made me burst out
laughing then and there. I had to work off my dangerous tendency to
unseemly merriment by blowing my nose, a proceeding which filled old
Billali with horror, for he looked over his shoulder and made a ghastly
face at me, and I heard him murmur, "Oh, my poor Baboon!"

At last we reached the curtains, and here Billali collapsed flat on to
his stomach, with his hands stretched out before him as though he were
dead, and I, not knowing what to do, began to stare about the place. But
presently I clearly felt that somebody was looking at me from behind the
curtains. I could not see the person, but I could distinctly feel his
or her gaze, and, what is more, it produced a very odd effect upon my
nerves. I was frightened, I do not know why. The place was a strange
one, it is true, and looked lonely, notwithstanding its rich hangings
and the soft glow of the lamps--indeed, these accessories added to,
rather than detracted from its loneliness, just as a lighted street at
night has always a more solitary appearance than a dark one. It was
so silent in the place, and there lay Billali like one dead before the
heavy curtains, through which the odour of perfume seemed to float up
towards the gloom of the arched roof above. Minute grew into minute, and
still there was no sign of life, nor did the curtain move; but I felt
the gaze of the unknown being sinking through and through me, and