"I saw him," she said, in an almost inaudible tone, pressing her
daughter's hand with her bony fingers. "A great Rajah has come to
Sambir--a Son of Heaven," muttered the old woman to herself. "Go away,
girl!"

The two women stood close to the curtain, Nina wishing to approach the
rent in the stuff, and her mother defending the position with angry
obstinacy. On the other side there was a lull in the conversation, but
the breathing of several men, the occasional light tinkling of some
ornaments, the clink of metal scabbards, or of brass siri-vessels passed
from hand to hand, was audible during the short pause. The women
struggled silently, when there was a shuffling noise and the shadow of
Almayer's burly form fell on the curtain.

The women ceased struggling and remained motionless. Almayer had stood
up to answer his guest, turning his back to the doorway, unaware of what
was going on on the other side. He spoke in a tone of regretful
irritation.

"You have come to the wrong house, Tuan Maroola, if you want to trade as
you say. I was a trader once, not now, whatever you may have heard about
me in Macassar. And if you want anything, you will not find it here; I
have nothing to give, and want nothing myself. You should go to the
Rajah here; you can see in the daytime his houses across the river,
there, where those fires are burning on the shore. He will help you and
trade with you. Or, better still, go to the Arabs over there," he went
on bitterly, pointing with his hand towards the houses of Sambir.
"Abdulla is the man you want. There is nothing he would not buy, and
there is nothing he would not sell; believe me, I know him well."