Note Page 227 — VATHEK: AN ARABIAN TALE BY WILLIAM BECKFORD (continued 2)

Never had such an incident happened before. Full of mortification, shame, and despondence, and not knowing how to walk, the ladies fell into the dirt. “Must I go on foot?” said one. “Must I wet my feet?” cried another. “Must I soil my dress?” asked a third. “Execrable Bababalouk!” exclaimed all. “Outcast of hell! what hast thou to do with torches? Better were it to be eaten by tigers, than to fall into our present condition! we are for ever undone! Not a porter is there in the army, nor a currier of camels, but hath seen some part of our bodies; and, what is worse, our very faces!”* On saying this the most bashful amongst them hid their foreheads on the ground, whilst such as had more boldness flew at Bababalouk; but he, well apprised of their humour, and not wanting in shrewdness, betook himself to his heels along with his comrades, all dropping their torches and striking their timbals.