But the tension is relieved when the Sultan, with an effort to lighten his brow, turns to Zobéide, and announces his intention of setting forth upon a hunting expedition. Such a plan inevitably implies an absence from the palace, and at the intimation sidelong glances of meaning are covertly exchanged amongst the women. But incipient smiles of anticipatory pleasure are suppressed, and under a mask of disappointment and regret, the harem makes as though to turn its master from his purpose. Is he not their sun? Must the light of his presence be so soon removed, and joy and happiness thereby eclipsed? Zobéide alone refrains from this cajolery. Flinging herself upon the piled-up cushions, she broods darkly upon this whim her husband so suddenly proposes to indulge. Half hopeful that petulance may succeed where blandishments have failed, she ignores the glances which the Sultan casts towards her. Plainly he is loth to go, but the poison which his brother has instilled works actively within him, and he makes no sign of condescension to her. Armed retainers enter, attendants bring habiliments of the chase. With these the Sultan is invested by the deft fingers of the women, who make what use they can of such opportunity as this service offers to exercise their fascinations. Schah-Zeman is attended by the eunuchs, who buckle his armour upon him and hand him the long hunting spear. Thus equipped, the Sultan’s brother makes towards the door. Schariar follows him, but pauses to bestow a last curious glance at Zobéide. The latter makes no sign, and the Sultan, brushing aside the last fawning attentions of the women, strides moodily forth. As he passes out of the chamber, Zobéide, repenting of her petulance and simulated coldness, since they seem to have failed in their object, springs quickly from her cushions and hurries after him in a belated effort at detention. Among the other women, however, no further sign of regret, real or simulated, is to be seen. On all sides faces are wreathed in smiles. Excitement seethes in the harem. The violence of suppression which the presence of their lord demands, on pain of dire and instant punishment, is the measure of the almost childish glee with which, that menace momentarily out of mind, the women fly to the illicit pleasures their appetite for intrigue, unduly nurtured, has devised. On the tiptoe of expectation they scamper one to another, but ever returning to the three doors which stand in the background, hiding one knows not what. Before these mysterious portals the women cluster in chattering groups, while two of their number are sent upon some urgent errand. Anon the latter return dragging with them, in hysterical mirth, the clumsy, grotesque person of the chief eunuch. In the bunch of metal which jingles at the latter’s side are the keys which alone will open [Illustration] [Illustration]