The Pasha, still waiting to make up his mind, let his fancy linger about Zuembuel Agha. It was really rather absurd, after all, what a part women played in the world, and how little it all came to in the end! Did the black man, he wondered, walk in a clearer, cooler world, free of the clouds, the iridescences, the languors, the perfumes, the strange obsessions, that made others walk so often like madmen? Or might some tatter of preposterous humanity still work obscurely in him? Or a bitterness of not being like other men? That perhaps was why the Pasha felt friendlier toward Shaban. They were more alike. 'You are right, Zuembuel Agha,' he said, 'the world is upside down. But neither the madama nor any of us made it so. All we can do is try and keep our heads as it turns. Now, will you please tell me how you happened to be up here? The madama never told you to come. You know perfectly well that the customs of Europe are different from ours, and that she does not like to have you follow her about.' 'What woman likes to be followed about?' retorted the eunuch with a sly smile. 'I know you have told me to leave her alone. But why was I brought into this house? Am I to stand by and watch dishonor brought upon it simply because you have eaten the poison of a woman?' 'Zuembuel Agha,' replied the Pasha sharply, 'I am not discussing old and new or this and that, but I am asking you to tell me what all this speech is about.' 'Give me that key and I will show you what it is about,' said the eunuch, stepping forward. But the Pasha found that he was not ready to go so directly to the point. 'Can't you answer a simple question?' he demanded irritably, retreating to the farther side of the fountain. The reflection of the painted ceiling in the pool made him think of Helene--and Madame Pomegranate. He stared into the still water as if to find Helene's face there. Was any other face hidden beside it, mocking him? But Zuembuel Agha had begun again, doggedly:-- 'I came here because it is my business to be here. I went to town this morning. When I got back they told me that you were away and that the madama was up here, alone. So I came. Is this a place for a woman to be alone in--a young woman, with men working all about, and I don't know who, and a thousand ways of getting in and out from the hills, and ten thousand hiding-places in the woods?' The Pasha made a gesture of impatience, and turned away. But after all, what could one do with old Zuembuel? He had been brought up in his tradition. The Pasha lighted another cigarette to help himself think. 'Well, I came up here,' continued the eunuch, 'and as I came I heard madama singing. You know how she sings the songs of the Franks.'