Drawing aside the curtain, Iskander and
his attendant entered a low apartment of considerable size. It was
hung with skins. A variety of armour and dresses were piled on
couches. A middle-aged man, of majestic appearance, muffled in a
pelisse of furs, with long chestnut hair, and a cap of crimson velvet
and ermine, was walking up and down the apartment, and dictating some
instructions to a person who was kneeling on the ground, and writing by
the bright flame of a brazen lamp. The bright flame of the blazing
lamp fell full upon the face of the secretary. Iskander beheld a most
beautiful woman.
She looked up as Iskander entered. Her large dark eyes glanced through
his soul. Her raven hair descended to her shoulders in many curls on
each side of her face, and was braided with strings of immense pearls.
A broad cap of white fox-skin crowned her whiter forehead. Her
features were very small, but sharply moulded, and a delicate tint gave
animation to her clear fair cheek. She looked up as Iskander entered,
with an air rather of curiosity than embarrassment.
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