She had told him, through her
servant, the evening before, that she would come to him early in the
morning, to hand him his coffee and chibouque. But Masa, did not
come, and the father's heart is filled with an inexplicable feeling
of anxiety. He hastily ascends the stairway. Djumeila no longer
watches before the door; she has gone, and is perhaps busied with
her morning occupations.
The sheik opens the door of his daughter's sitting-room.
"Masa" he cries, "it is time to come down to breakfast." He supposes
she is within, in her bedchamber, and has not heard him. "Masa," he
cries again, "come out, my child, come to your father."
All is still as before. He calls for the third time; no one replies.
"Masa, where are you, my child?" The sheik anxiously walks through
the sitting-room to the little chamber where his daughter's bed
stands: no one there either. " Masa, my child, my darling, where are
you?"
He stands still, listening for an answer; he breathes heavily when
as yet no answer comes, but consoles himself with the thought that
she has already gone down, and is awaiting him below, while he is
seeking her in her rooms above.
Hastily, with the quick step of youth, the sheik descends the
stairway again, but Masa was not there. The father's calls grow
louder and more anxious.
"Masa, where are you? My beloved child, come to your father.
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