Her hands folded in silent prayer, her
eyes fastened on his countenance, she bends over him and breathes
her warm, glowing breath through his cold lips, to give him of her
life, and bathes his cold brow with her warm tears.
Sitta Nefysseh's prayerful, tearful entreaties are heard. Youssouf
Bey awakens from his death-like slumber. Love has recalled the
spirit to the body. Love opens his eyes and permits him to see and
recognize her who is bowed over him, regarding him with loving
tenderness.
"Is it you, Sitta Nefysseh? Am I already dead, and is it a divine
being that looks at me with your eyes?"
"No, my Youssouf, you live and are with me on earth!"
"Oh, it is impossible--impossible! Only a sweet illusion," whispers
he, with quivering lips; his eyes close, and he falls back heavily.
But she bends over him, strokes his brow and cheek with gentle
touch, and calls him loving names.
"You live," murmurs she, "oh, feel that you live, dear Youssouf,
Feel it in this kiss!"
A soft tremor courses through his entire being, and his eyes open.
Yes, he lives! He is not dead! This is Nefysseh's victory over
death, this is the result of the impassioned kiss impressed on the
lips of her beloved.
"And is it possible, Nefysseh, you are indeed with me, and my dreams
of love and bliss are realized? You with me! What can have happened?
Why this wondrous change?"
He raises his hand to his forehead and touches the wound, and then
he knows what has taken place; he feels it in the burning pain of
his wound.
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