“You are a brute!” she cried hysterically. “What harm if men were present? They did not come near me. I am not like your women⁠—bred up to think of one thing only. Nor are Englishmen like you; they have respect for women. You are mad.”

Yûsuf was really mad, or seemed so, at that moment. He called her evil names in every tongue of which he had a smattering; and then in French, made childish by his rage, accused all Europeans of disgusting conduct.

“You deny it⁠— hein ? You are a liar, for the fact is known. We are not ignorant; we travel, and we have their books. What say you of their balls, their public dances, where women⁠—nay, young virgins⁠—choose what man they please, deserting husband or fiancé⁠—empty names!⁠—and dance and afterwards retire with him? The fact is known! The race is shameless⁠—may God punish them! It is forbidden for us to cast up former things in marriage; but for the future I command you to forsake their filthiness. Go once again, and we shall know you worthless! Swear to renounce their company, or I will kill you!”