such as you have never heard before?"
He accepted her invitation, and with a good deal of groaning and sighing she rose ponderously to her feet, a huge woman waving a monstrous fan. Li Hsein led the way through a dim-lit hallway, into a wide, spacious room beyond, a room of soft blue lights and fragrant colors, hung with rich tapestries. At one end of the room a vessel of incense burned and a slim gray thread of smoke curled up toward a blue-green lantern above. The light was subdued. It was kind to Li Hsein for it seemed to bring back much of youth to her coarse checks. It reformed her nose and thinned out her lips. She disappeared through a curtained doorway.
For a few minutes Steppling was left alone in the room wherein the incense burned. At last she returned, and her return marked her transformation. She was attired in a soft clinging orange-red gown and she was carrying the queer fan. She came to the center of the room and commenced to sing. She sang of love and enchantment; of green glades where tiny rivers flowed beneath the willows; of youth and laughter and young love. She sang of flowers, of gorgeous peonies pursued by the sun, and as she sang, other voices joined hers, soft plaintive voices singing in a subdued tone.
The lights had grown somewhat dim. They seemed concentered solely upon her. The far corners were in shadows, but where she stood and gently swayed was a blaze of light. As she sang she seemed to grow young. It was as though with her orange fan she were waving the years away from her. She even looked slim. Her eyes were shining like black jewels, her lips were thin and wondrously red and her teeth were like carved ivory glistening in the night. Her checks were flushed and her voice had softened and grown as sweet as a summer breeze caressing garden flowers. And always the voices joined in the singing.
Steppling gazed at her amazed. All the glamor and noises of the alley outside were forgotten. The awful stench which is the heritage of Canton was drowned in the incense burning in the bowl. He was hypnotized by the glory of Li Hsein even as all her other lovers had succumbed to her enchantments. In reality she was an old woman, but when she sang of love she became young, for love has no age. And Steppling could feel himself drawn toward her even against his will. It was as though he were turned to stone, powerless to move. The appeal of Li Hsein was a drug more subtle than opium or hasheesh. He struggled to free himself from the invisible bonds that held him to her. He shifted his gaze from Li Hsein to the fan, and as he gazed at it steadily, the vivid red patches took form. They were moving. They were lips and they were singing. They were joining in the songs of Li Hsein. It was an awful moment. All those mouths out of which the fan was made were moving horribly. Soft sounds came from them to lend with the voice of Li Hsein.
Steppling gasped. He sprang to his feet. He had broken the bonds. He was free, he could move again. Li Hsein paused. She ceased to sing. The light died from her eyes, the pungent color ebbed from her cheeks, her nose widened, her lips thickened and her body lost its allure. She made an effort to arrest his flight, but he pushed her away so violently that she slipped and fell. Once only he turned and glanced back. Her prostrate body lay beneath the green-blue lantern. The huge fan had fallen over her face, and it trembled and moved as though all the red lips that composed it were seeking hers.
