he lifted the jade cup to his lips. The tea was odd but not unpleasant to the taste. It coursed through his veins like old wine. He glanced toward Kwoh Fan. Life at that moment seemed very good, A perfect languidity hung over the room.
Kwoh Fan was dozing. He was breathing contentedly. But Coutts Cummings' perceptions seemed doubly clear. He drank once more of the blue-poppy scented tea, and as he drank fantastic thoughts crammed through his comprehension.
Before him lounged Kwoh Fan. He was sleeping. Within his sleeve was the key to the velvet room wherein the antique jar reposed. Coutts Cummings leaned toward his sleeping host. He touched his hand but Kwoh Fan did not move. He touched his cheek. But still he stirred not. Finally Coutts Cummings sprang to his feet. Stealthily he drew the key from Kwoh Fan's sleeve. The next moment he was gliding down the heavy-carpeted hall. Not a sound stirred within the palace.
Finally he arrived at the great door that led to the blue-draped chamber. His hands shook so he could scarcely insert the key in the lock. But at last the ponderous door swung open and closed behind him and he found himself in that room of romance and enchantment. There was no lantern lighted but the yellow moonlight streamed through the great glass window. It lighted up the blue folds of the draperies. Now more than ever they resembled the open sky. It was as though he stood beneath an immense inverted blue bowl. Softly he walked toward the green jar. He caressed it for a moment with his hands. Then from his pocket he drew a knife. Bit by bit he chipped away the wax that sealed the top; until all had been removed.
For a moment he hesitated before reverently lifting the cover. As he did so he sprang back, falling among the cushions and gazing in awe at the jar. At once a perfume like unto nothing in his experience commenced to pervade the room. Stronger and stronger it grew. It stirred up a thousand emotions within him.
And as he watched the jar it seemed as though a strange light were coming from it, a yellow golden glow as soft as the mist of rainbows. Gradually it increased in volume until it filled the room. It was a shower of soft gold that enmeshed him like a web. The room was quaintly brilliant now, yet it was not a room at all but a golden sunlit street. In the distance camels and mules were ambling toward a purple-golden sunset. Gone was the room of pungent draperies, while this strange city loomed up to take its place. Only the jar still remained. And now from the jar there stepped a maiden so peerless in beauty that his eyes burned at the sight of her. She was formed as perfectly as the rarest flower. Her silk-soft waist was of rose-petal texture. Her garments were simple, though not without some trace of costliness. The firm lines of her lovely body were accented by them rather than concealed. Like old ivory was her face and her lips crushed pomegranates. They were more scarlet than rubies and sweeter than wild honey. Her eyes were blacker than the black dungeon beneath Wan Shou Shan, and her cheeks were faintly pink as are coral beaches at sunrise.
Coutts Cummings gazed at her and his mind forsook him. So lovely she
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