CHAPTER XXVIII

PRIDE AND ITS FALL

Alas, for human greatness! A horseman trotting along the stony street drew up in front of the gate with a sudden cessation of the jingling of a saber and the rattling of trappings. Two musket butts struck the ground simultaneously, as the two sentries at the gate finished their salute. Ayesha dropped the fish which she was cleaning at the hydrant, wiped her hands upon her dirty apron and tore it from her waist. Souleima set a little pile of dishes upon the table and tried to pat her straggling hair into place. A heavy hand, supplemented by a cavalry boot, shook the gate till the fastenings rattled.

"Merciful Allah, the Effendi!" screamed Ayesha and Souleima under the breath, and they both rushed to the gate, but they were too good Turks to open without inquiring sweetly:

"Who is it?"

"It's I, Kostakes. Open the gate before I kick it down."

"He's angry!" whispered Souleima, undoing the fastenings.

Kostakes paid no attention to the low salaams of his two wives. He strode into the middle of the garden and, plucking off his sword, cried fiercely:

"Here! Some of you lazy women, take my sword. Ayesha, bring me a chair. Souleima, fetch my slippers."

He sank into the proffered chair with a sigh of satisfaction. The Effendi had been riding hard and was evidently tired. He was uncomfortable too, and needed a bath and grooming. A prickly black beard had grown upon his square chin, and perspiration had made little water courses in the dust upon his dark brown cheeks. He laid his right foot upon his left knee, slapped his hands side by side upon the high boot tops, and swept the court with inquiring eye.

"_Barbounia_, eh?" he inquired of Ayesha, as his glance fell upon the string of half cleaned mullets.

"Yes, Effendi."

"Are they fresh, eh? Are they fresh?"

"Fresh, Effendi? They are alive."

"Brava, brava!" There was a softer note to his voice. "Well, get 'em ready; I haven't had anything to eat in twelve hours."

"Yes, Effendi; immediately, Effendi."

Ayesha trotted over to the hydrant and began scaling the mullets with commendable zeal.

Kostakes seized the heel and toe of his boot and gave an ineffectual tug. Then he glanced about the court again. Souleima had not yet returned with the slippers.

Ayesha was scratching away at the fish as though she were trying to break a record. The Effendi glanced sharply at Ferende! From mere force of habit he had not ordered her to do anything. In the stress of fatigue and immediate necessity, he had turned naturally to the two old wheel-horses of his harem. Ferende was holding her cigarette between two fingers of her left hand, and was gazing up into the mulberry tree with affected unconcern. Her lips were slightly parted and a little red spot glowed angrily in each cheek. At another time Kostakes might have thought her beautiful, but a new idol had been set up in his heart, crowding poor Ferende into the stale limbo of ex-favorites.

"Here, you," he called harshly, "come and pull off my boots."

Ayesha glanced over her shoulder at her lord and master. He was plainly not looking at her. She turned her face to the wall and chuckled.

"Do you hear?" shouted Kostakes. "Throw away that cigarette and come here."

Ferende turned as pale as death, but called to Ayesha, sweetly:

"Don't you hear the Effendi, Ayesha? Run!"

Kostakes sprang to his feet, and strode toward Ferende with uplifted riding whip.

"None of that, you lazy drab! Who is master in this house, you or I? Come and pull off my boots or I'll cut blood out of you!"

Ferende obeyed, with a half counterfeit of a smile upon her pale lips, and revenge in her heart.

"How long before dinner will be ready?" Kostakes called to Ayesha.

"About twenty minutes, Effendi."

"Call me as soon as it is ready. I shall be up in Panayota's room."

Then an idea came to Ferende. She threw away her cigarette, crossed the court and disappeared in the house. Souleima ran after, and hiding behind the wall, peeped within. She saw Ferende step out of her slippers and tiptoe up the stairs towards the room into which Kostakes had just disappeared. Souleima waited until she was out of sight and then followed.

Ayesha, overcome by woman's curiosity, that passion which fears neither death nor shame, clapped the fish, now ready for the pan, into a drawer of the table.

"I must know what's going on," she muttered, as she stole into the house.