Here Abdallah pauses in his narrative. He touches a silver bell, and soon a maiden appears. This is the first time that we are permitted to gaze upon a Moorish woman's face; those we met in the streets or parks, or saw behind the latticework of the woman's gallery in the mosque, were always clothed in the mantilla, which encircled their entire form, and their faces were always hidden under the face veil, or under the horsehair vizard, which left but the eyes visible. She wears her hair braided. A light cap or cornet, adorned with gems, forms the covering for her head. The side locks are entwined with coral beads, hung loosely to chinck with every movement. Full white muslin trousers are tied at the ankle with golden strings that end in merry little silver bells. A long full white mantle of transparent muslin covers the tight-fitting vest and jacket of silk, both of brilliant colors, and embroidered and decorated with woven gold. Around her neck and arms and wrists she wears chains, necklaces and bracelets, of gold, and of coral and pearls and amber. He whispers something in her ear, and immediately she disappears, light as an angel shape. A deep silence ensues. At that moment we think not of Mohammed, the founder of a new faith and the conqueror of the world, but of _Zelica_, Abdallah's daughter, that beauteous maiden, whose complexion vies with the rubies and white jasmine flowers she wears more radiant still when her dazzling eyes drooped, and when the scarlet hue of innocence mantled her face as her glance met the eyes of men and strangers. Abdallah had ordered refreshments. Servants appear and spread an embroidered rug upon the floor. Upon it they place a low tray, set with silver and fine earthenware, and provided with the choicest of fruits, confections and sherbets flavored with violet. Low cushions are placed around it, upon which we, following the example of our host and guide, seat ourselves with our legs crossed. Before eating, a servant pours water on our hands from a basin and ewer. The meal begins with "_Bismilah_" for grace. A very interesting conversation, displaying great learning and much reading, is carried on between the two poets, as to whether Cordova or Bagdad leads the world in literature, art, science, and philosophy. Abdallah champions Cordova, Dunash favors Bagdad, his native home. The delicious repast is ended. The floor is cleared, Abdallah resumes his narrative.