Mourad Bey, my husband and my hero, him I loved! Since he is dead, I
am alone and love no one!"
The black eyes are still peering out through the shrubbery and
flowers, fixed on her with passionate ardor. She does not see them;
but now, as she raises her head as if to rise from her cushions,
these eyes quickly disappear, and a tall, manly figure, stooping
forward behind the trees and shrubbery, glides noiselessly along to
the gate that leads into the inner court-yard. But, before he steps
out, young Youssouf stands still, draws a long breath, and seems to
summon all his resolution to his aid to resist the charm that
carries him away.
"If she knew that I watched her, she would drive me from her, and
then Youssouf would die. Alas! she may not dream that I love her,
she is proud and unapproachable, and what am I to her? The poor
kachef of her deceased husband! She tolerates me as she tolerates
the dog that is accustomed to lie on the threshold of her door.
Alas, I should die if she knew of Youssouf's love for her!"
Kachef Youssouf is handsome, and, were it not the noble Sitta
Nefysseh, exception would be taken to a woman's having so handsome a
kachef in her service. But Sitta Nefysseh is unapproachable, virtue
attends her in all her ways, modesty and dignity are everywhere her
companions. No one dares approach her chaste reputation with even a
breath of reproach.
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