As he wandered about with clanking chains, he played
strange music upon a polished thing of hollow bones. Sometimes the
music laughed and wooed when eyes were kind; sometimes when eyes were
over-daring it was subtly impudent and eloquent. Sometimes it was so
unspeakably weird and melancholy that along with the clanking chains
and the strangely luminous turban, many a careless stroller turned and
stared. So did a slender, turbaned Seminole chief with a minstrel at
his heels.
It was upon this picturesque young Seminole that the eyes of the Greek
by the hibiscus lingered longest, but the eyes of the Bedouin scanned
every line of the minstrel's ragged corduroy with grim amusement.
"A romantic garb, by Allah!" said the Bedouin dryly.
"It has served its purpose," reminded the Greek sombrely. And laughed
with relish.
For the Seminole chief had fled perversely through the lantern-lit
trees, her soft, mocking laughter proclaiming her sex and her mood.
"And still he follows!" boomed the Bedouin. "With or without the
music-machine, he is consistently fatuous."
The man with the luminous turban spoke suddenly to a girl in trailing
satin with a muff of flowers in her hand. Shoulders and throat gleamed
superbly above the line of golden satin; there were flashing topazes in
her hair and about her throat; and the slender, arched foot in the
satin slipper was small and finely moulded.
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