Randa his friend, if not his beloved or his betrothed? And in his heart of hearts — nay, in the ambush of his conscience — she was his wife and his lawful spouse.

After a time he thought an age, he came to himself at the young man's withdrawal from the salon, and was somewhat eased. But where was Randa? He slipped out to the turning beyond the salon, and there she was, trying to slip away from him at the last minute by inventing excuses; and he cried out in a voice that split the veil of the fearful gloom like a whip:

— Randa! I must walk you home tonight!

She gave him a quick glance, murmuring an apology through it and pleading a hurried word of thanks. Her tact came between the two young men; then she directed her steps to his side while the roar of the rich young man's motorcar died away into the darkness.

A stubborn silence took hold of her. How weariness had taken its toll of Randa! So strongly did she feel it today, and by force, as though her limbs had given way, her soul had shrunk in upon itself, and she had been made to loathe, in her own eyes, herself, and those about her, and her work, and life altogether. And when they entered

the alley leading to her room he made her the target of a volley of biting sarcasm — how small he was, a simple artist, before the queen of the salons and the goddess of fashion — and he went on...

— And of course, how will you be content with little from a young man, now that you have tasted the costliness of dress and the elegance of fine attire.

A rattle caught in her throat and stopped up the passages of speech. Was her silence, then, the sign that she returned him love for love? Truly, it was a question beyond doubting: how was she to produce the proofs — of which he himself had never been unaware — so as to blunt his sharpness and quiet the storm of his anger?

Her faltering steps drew her beneath the light streaming from the little window of the shop of old Masoud — her guardian angel — from which he would look out each night to watch for Randa's return with her artist cavalier, the two of them gurgling with laughter. No wonder, then, that the gloom of the two hesitant lovers caught the shopkeeper's eye. He rose nimbly from his floor cushion and whispered from the window:

— Randa! Come up, and bring Ragheb.

And had they not answered her angel's invitation, he would have come down to the street and brought her in himself. In his little shop the old man set about diverting her, curbing his own curiosity, with the telling of tales and anecdotes. Seated on the floor rug they sipped his bitter Arab coffee among the shelves, where were ranged flasks of unguents and perfumes, and kohl stones, and gum; here was set a piece of old tincar such as the goldsmiths once used in the casting of gold, and there a bellows for kindling the fire of old Masoud's narghile. And what deepened the charm of this Oriental setting was the scent of cyclamen incense

Mum

Attractive.. captivating..

but she lacks

Mum

Mum —

a bouquet of flowers

whose fragrance rises

from the recesses of your captivating

body

MUM DEODORANT