Achmed leaves him, mounts a
swift dromedary, and rides out into the night, and Mohammed retires
to rest. But he rises again with the earliest dawn, and gazes
impatiently out of the window, as if expecting some one; he smiles
at himself; he is as impatient as a young girl, or as a lover
awaiting the coming of his love.
But hour after hour passes, and still he sees no one coming up the
path that leads through the garden to the house. But finally, at
noon, Achmed is seen approaching
Mohammed hastens out into the garden to meet him.
"Well, did you find the tent?"
"Yes, master, the dromedary ran to it of its own accord."
"And whom did you meet at the tent?"
"The father, master--the chief Arnhyn."
Mohammed quickly averts his face--the servant must not see that his
lips quiver, that he grows pale.
"You met the chief, and he was alone?"
"Yes, master, alone in his tent, and I conversed with him."
"What was said? Did he speak of his daughter? Has she followed
another man to his tent?" asked Mohammed, in such quick, passionate
tones, that Achmed started and failed to understand his meaning.
"No, master, he spoke to me of his daughter, because I, as you
instructed me, asked about, her, yet so casually, that he could not
suspect that I particularly desired to speak of her. He told me his
daughter was much changed; she had become sad and delicate, and he
had therefore sent her to visit some friends at Petresin, in order
that she might be thrown together with other young girls for a time,
and learn to laugh and jest again.
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