She saw the young kachef Youssouf coming up the walk.
She saw his proud, erect figure, his countenance full of youthful
freshness and nobility. She drew heir veil more closely about her;
but the veil cannot hide the brightness of her eyes. They fairly
sparkled as he advanced. He approached slowly. She seemed not to see
him, leaned back on her cushions, raised the crimson rose to her
face, and inhaled its fragrance. Kachef Youssouf, his arms folded on
his breast, stood at the entrance of the kiosk.
"Sitta Nefysseh, mistress, you command to have your carriage ready,
as you wished to drive out at this hour. It is ready, and I humbly
ask if it is your pleasure to go now, and if I may have the honor of
accompanying your suite, and riding at the side of your carriage?"
Sitta Nefysseh, who was still inhaling the fragrance of the rose,
slowly let fall her hand to her side, and the flower fell from her
fingers to the ground.
"You are an attentive, punctual servant," said she. "I thank you; I
will drive out at once with two of my women; you may ride beside my
carriage."
Sitta Nefysseh arose and left the kiosk. She passed close by him,
and her white veil lightly touched Youssouf's shoulder. He stood as
if touched by a magic wand and fixed to the spot. He could not
follow his mistress, who walked proudly toward the place where the
women awaited her.
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