"The viceroy has himself
called his enemy to his side. He thinks, with his favor and
flattery, to make me forget what I have endured. He shall learn that
Mohammed Ali never forgives. You are lost, Cousrouf, for you
slumber, while I watch and will take advantage of your slumber.
Beware, Cousrouf, beware! I will not be your murderer, you shall
live, but I will humble you; you shall sink down in the dust before
me! Let that be the revenge for Masa, my white dove, and for
myself!"
CHAPTER IX
SITTA NEFYSSEH.
She was reposing in her garden-kiosk. She had ordered her female
slaves to place themselves in the rear of some rose-bushes in the
background, and make sweet harmony with their cymbals and clarinets.
She wished to be left alone with her thoughts. She lay reclining at
full length on her silver-embroidered silken cushions. The white
silk dress, inworked with crimson roses, enfolded her closely,
displaying the contour of her graceful form. The sunlight pierced
the airy latticework of the kiosk, around which clustered roses and
orange-blossoms, and shed a soft light over her charming
countenance. The veil, which Sitta Nefysseh only wears when she goes
into the streets or meets strangers in her house, is laid aside.
Beautiful is Sitta Nefysseh, more beautiful than a young girl, than
the unblown rose, radiant with loveliness and dignity.
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