heard. At all events, there was a light
tapping of heels on unseen stairs, and from behind a red-curtained
doorway appeared a tall young woman, dressed in black.

She was robust as well as tall, and Stephen thought she looked rather
like a handsome Spanish boy; yet she was feminine enough in her
outlines. It was the frank and daring expression of her face and great
black eyes which gave the look of boyishness. She had thick, straight
eyebrows, a large mouth that was beautiful when she smiled, to show
perfect teeth between the red lips that had a faint, shadowy line of
down above them.

"Ah, Monsieur Nevill Caird!" she exclaimed, in English, with a full
voice, and a French accent that was pretty, though not Parisian. She
smiled at Stephen, too, without waiting to be introduced. "Monsieur
Caird is always kind in bringing his friends to me, and I am always glad
to see them."

"I've brought Mr. Knight, not to buy, but to ask a favour," said Nevill.

"To buy, too," Stephen hastened to cut in. "I see things I can't live
without. I must own them."

"Well, don't set your heart on anything Mademoiselle Soubise won't sell.
She bought everything with the idea of selling it, she admits, but now
she's got them here, there are some things she can't make up her mind to
part with at any price."

"Oh, only a few tiles--and some Jewish embroideries--and bits of
jewellery--and a rug or two or a piece of pottery--and maybe _one_ copy
of the Koran, and a beggar's bowl," Jeanne Soubise excused herself,
hastily adding more and more to her list of exceptions, as her eyes
roved wistfully among her treasures. "Oh, and an amphora just dug up
near Timgad, with Roman oil still inside. It's a beauty. Will you come
down to the cellar to look at it?"

Nevill thanked her, and reserved the pleasure for another time. Then he
inquired what was the latest news from Mademoiselle Josette at Tlemcen;
and when he heard that there was nothing new, he told the lady of the
curiosity-shop what was the object of the early visit.

"But of course I have heard of Ben Halim, and I have seen him, too," she
said; "only it was long ago--maybe ten years. Yes, I could not have been
seventeen. It is already long that he went away from Algiers, no one
knows where. Now he is said to be dead. Have you not heard of him,
Monsieur Nevill? You must have. He lived at Djenan el Hadj; close to the
Jardin d'Essai. You know the place well. The new rich Americans, Madame
Jewett