No longer assailed by the insistent beseechings of his charges, the janitor fearfully surveys the scene. Everywhere, dispersed throughout the chamber, amorous couples meet his eye. With sudden terror in the realisation of the frightful risk he has incurred, he turns to go. At least let him make sure that watch is set for his master’s return. But as he turns he is confronted by the imperious figure of Zobéide, who has been leaning, observant, during all that has passed, beside the third door--the door as yet unopened. Avidly she demands the unlocking of this last, with fierce insistent finger pointing her order. Here is a pretty dilemma for the luckless janitor, a searching test of his vaunted power and authority. His servile instinct quails before the regal mien of Zobéide, her gesture of command and blazing eyes that brook neither prevarication nor delay. Like the slave that he truly is, he turns to do her behest; but even as he fumbles for the key the enormity of that to which he is accessory [Illustration] strikes him with horror. The others--that is bad enough, and like to be paid for dearly if discovery--he trembles at the thought--should ensue. But the Sultana, his master’s wedded wife.... Panic seizes him, and with a frantic effort to assert the authority he has boasted, he refuses. The fires of passion smouldering in the breast of Zobéide leap forth on the instant. A woman scorned or a woman denied--her fury is a thing few men, and least of all an emasculate poltroon, can face. A frightful paroxysm shakes the panting queen. Like a tigress baulked of her prey, she turns upon the grovelling creature who dares to thwart her thus, hardly restrained from flinging herself upon him. To a contest of wills so unequal one ending only is possible. The wretched eunuch cringes before this awful apparition of his royal mistress, all other terrors swamped by the urgency of present fear. The long crescendo of the music rises to a blaring climax as he flings wide the remaining door. Palpitating with the vehemence of her expectant desires, Zobéide stands before the open portal, clutching her breasts, with eyes glued to the dim recesses beyond. There is a pause, which adds a new delicious torture to her thirsty cravings; then with agile bound, light-footed, there comes leaping towards her a young negro. Round his naked chest he wears a broad, gem-studded band of gold, that enhances the smooth and supple beauty of his dusky arms and neck. Great pearls are pendant from his ears, a golden turban is twisted round his head. His flowing pantaloons cover, but do not hide, despite voluminous folds, his perfect symmetry and grace.