The doors of her house and the park-gate
are again thrown open. Sitta Nefysseh is at home; she sits behind
the golden lattice-work of her window and gazes out into the street.
Why does her heart throb so wildly? Is Sitta Nefysseh awaiting any
one?
A long array of richly-attired officers passes by. Sitta Nefysseh
gazes at them intently, her heart still throbbing wildly. Suddenly
she utters a low cry, and with closed eyes reels back from the
window. It is he--yes, she has seen him, the young Mameluke bey,
galloping toward her house on his proud steed, followed by a body of
Mamelukes. She hears him stop before the door, and she knows that he
is coming.
Her countenance radiant with delight, she stands with outstretched
arms, as she had stood when she last saw him, and, as then, she
whispers: "I love him! oh, I love him! My soul yearns for him! I
would clasp him in my arms, and yet--no, it may not be! "murmurs
she, interrupting herself and letting her arms sink down to her
side. "No, it may not, cannot be! They would kill him! If Bardissi
did not, L'Elfi would! And then my oath! O Mourad, be with me in
this hour, that I may remain firm! Be strong, my heart! It may not
be!"
The door opened, and a slave entered to announce that the Mameluke
bey, Youssouf, was waiting at the door with his suite, and humbly
begged that he might be permitted to see Sitta Nefysseh.
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