The fowls were likewise gashed and torn asunder; the matting round grew foul with steaming entrails. Another minute and the slayers reappeared, their black arms purpled to the elbow, dripping blood, their faces and their lips defiled with it; and then began a devilish dance of self-abandonment, all the more horrible for its approach to beauty. The sleek skin of the dancers caught blue lights; their fixed eyes gleamed enormous, like those painted on the lids of mummies. Barakah believed herself in hell, forever lost; it was as if an iron hand compressed her throat. Her heart beat wildly. One of the women, the most shameless, lurched towards her, stretching out a bloodstained hand. Her heart gave one tremendous beat and then stood still.

When she recovered consciousness it was to find the lady Fitnah bending over her. The negresses had gone, the room was cleansed, the furniture replaced exactly as before. She might have thought she had been dreaming had not Yûsuf’s mother whispered eagerly: