What! Bardissi trembles!--the hero, who amid the din of battle
joyously confronts the death-dealing cannon, who never trembles,
though face to face with a whole forest of spears--Bardissi trembles
and turns pale!
Sitta Nefysseh sees it, and her smile brightens. "Why do you
hesitate to approach, Osman? and what have you to say to me, friend
of my husband, Mourad Bey?"
She wishes to remind him that he had been Mourad's friend. He well
understands her meaning, and, stepping quickly forward, falls on his
knee before her, and reverently kisses the hem of her dress.
"I paused, O Sitta, Rose of Cairo--I paused because I heard the song
of the slaves--they are singing my favorite song."
"The song is known to you?" said Sitta Nefysseh.
"It is. Do you know, Sitta, when I first heard this song?"
"I do not," replied she, shaking her head gently.
"May I tell you?"
"Do so; seat yourself on the marble stool standing at the entrance
of the kiosk, and tell me."
She falls back upon her cushion with the easy grace of a swan. But
Bardissi does not take the seat so graciously assigned him. He steps
forward and remains standing in front of Sitta Nefysseh, gazing down
upon her with reverence and delight, as though his glances were a
consecrated gold-inworked veil in which he wishes to envelop her
lovely form, and draw her to his heart.
"Well, Osman Bey, when did you first hear this song?"
He remains silent for a moment; the bees are humming in the air, the
fountains flashing, and from the distance the words of the song the
slaves are singing are wafted over by the gentle breeze:
"Thee alone on earth have I loved.
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