It was manifest that half her compliments were insincere, nor did she take the slightest trouble to disguise the fact; but in the intervals of soporific fiction and pure blandishment she spoke of things worth knowing in a tone of frank goodwill. She knew the why and how of every custom, the stories giving rise to every proverb, and was so acute a judge of human character that her gossip had the flavour of an intellectual game. Her wiles, it seemed, were worn to show her cleverness, or cynically, to travesty arts which flourish in this transitory world.

She became a member of the household, but with privileges. Barakah was the sultan, she the grand vizier, it was agreed. No monarch ever had a more delightful minister. She made the slave-girls more attentive to their mistress, whose comfort she increased in a variety of ways. She knew where to lay her hands upon the leading storytellers and musicians, and was herself the most accomplished female mountebank at that time living. She soon learnt every mood of her protectress, and its antidote. The latest scandal dwelt at her tongue’s tip.