A man's heart is ever young, ever fresh for a new
love, and every love seems to him to be the first.
If Butheita were not the daughter of a Bedouin chieftain, but a
Georgian or Circassian slave, he would give for her all the riches
he possesses ; the beautiful house and furniture given him by
Cousrouf Pacha. He would make her his wife, cost what it might. "I
thank you, O Mohammed, thou great prophet, who, reading the heart of
man, allows him to have four wives. I would Butheita were my second
wife."
The curtain of the tent is drawn aside, and Butheita enters, a
wooden waiter in her hand. All that she has to set before her guest,
the beautiful dates and bananas, the black bread, the butter, all
are nicely arranged on the waiter, which she now smilingly deposits
at the feet of her guest.
"Now seat yourself on the mat, beloved guest, and refresh yourself
with what poor Butheita has to offer you. Pray take the bread and
break it; and let us eat it together in token that we are friends,
and that you are sacred to me."
"And you are sacred to me," replies Mohammed, gravely, as he takes
up the black bread and breaks it. Together they eat of it, and then
sit down beside each other, and refresh themselves with Butheita's
daintily arranged fruits and goat's milk. Butheita tells him in her
charming way of her housekeeping, of her sheep and goats, and how
glad they were when she returned.
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