" The song is a familiar one. But why
does it excite such emotion in her heart, why do her large black
eyes fill with tears? She would permit no one to see these tears,
she would quickly brush them from her sparkling eyes with her hand,
white as the lily, if the eye of any human being could now behold
her.
But no one sees her--Sitta Nefysseh is alone.
At least she thinks so. The pair of black eyes that peer out from
behind the shrubbery and flowers near the garden-wall, she does not
see, and yet these eyes are fixed with such anguish and longing,
with such passionate ardor, on the lovely woman who lies there
dreamily on her cushions.
Of what is she dreaming? The slaves are singing of love and bliss;
the waters murmuring of love and bliss, and, in the heart of the
beautiful Sitta Nefysseh, there are also singing, sighing, and
murmuring of love and bliss!
People say that Sitta Nefysseh is proud and has a cold heart. Love
has never dared to approach her since the death of her husband,
Mourad Bey. She is kindly in her manner toward all, yet no one dares
suppose she views him with more favor than others. She keeps all men
at a distance; they all love her and bow down in reverence and
adoration before her, but Sitta Nefysseh remains proud and cold; she
loves no one!
This the people say, and, if she heard it, she would nod her
beautiful head, would smile and say: "They are right, I love no one.
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