The school was an octagonal kiosk of marble, touching the wall of a world-famous mosque. Its salient bulk half throttled an important thoroughfare, forming a narrow strait where traffic battled, and on each side a little bay or backwater where the carriage could draw up without obstruction. There, underneath the windows with their arabesques of iron screen-work, sat street sorcerers with trays of sand before them, venders of sugarcane and slabs of bread and divers nuts; and holy beggars slumbered in the shade. Barakah knew exactly where Muhammad had his seat and, waiting upon that side, watched a certain opening in the ironwork, from which there presently emerged a little hand. It fluttered for a moment and was then withdrawn. She waited for a second signal and a third before she gave the order to drive on.