They had just gone out when a tumult arose outside the door. Some one
was trying to enter in spite of the servants; and as the disturbance was
increasing Hamilcar ordered the stranger to be shown in.
An old Negress made her appearance, broken, wrinkled, trembling,
stupid-looking, wrapped to the heels in ample blue veils. She advanced
face to face with the Suffet, and they looked at each other for some
time; suddenly Hamilcar started; at a wave of his hand the slaves
withdrew. Then, signing to her to walk with precaution, he drew her by
the arm into a remote apartment.
The Negress threw herself upon the floor to kiss his feet; he raised her
brutally.
"Where have you left him, Iddibal?"
"Down there, Master;" and extricating herself from her veils, she rubbed
her face with her sleeve; the black colour, the senile trembling, the
bent figure disappeared, and there remained a strong old man whose skin
seemed tanned by sand, wind, and sea. A tuft of white hair rose on his
skull like the crest of a bird; and he indicated his disguise, as it lay
on the ground, with an ironic glance.
"You have done well, Iddibal! 'Tis well!" Then piercing him, as it were,
with his keen gaze: "No one yet suspects?"
The old man swore to him by the Kabiri that the mystery had been kept.
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