When Fitnah Khânum entered, the small boy was stamping about on the dais, hurling frightful imprecations at his mother, who was on her knees endeavouring to soothe him. His fez was off, and he had trampled on it in his rage; he tore his clothing. Umm ed-Dahak, crouching by the wall with her narghile, made clucking noises to attract the child; while the wife of Ghandûr, standing, smiled upon the scene, awaiting the command to bear him off. The floor was littered with his broken playthings. The light that filtered in through the rich lattice was blue with all the dust that he had raised.
“Look, here comes thy grandmother, a great lady. Hush, O Muhammad! Be a good boy. I will give thee such nice sweeties.”
“Mayest thou be ravished and then cut in pieces!” shrieked Muhammad, knuckling both his eyes. Therewith he spurned his mother with his foot.