... But your room, yes, to be sure. Shall I show you the way?"
"I can discover it, monsieur."
"Monsieur--fie on you, my little dove.... Hamdi, I tell you, your
lover Hamdi."
He laughed unsteadily, and put a hand on her arm. "You are running
away, I know that. And I have so much to tell you ... Oh, it was
tedious in that villa of your father's! 'Yes,' I thought to myself,
'that is a fine story, a funny story, but I have heard them all
before. And you are in no haste, you revelers--you have no little
bride waiting for you at home.'... That one glance at you--I tell you
it was the glance of which the poet sings--the glance that cost him
a thousand sighs. I was on fire with impatience.... For I am
beauty's slave, little dove.... You may have heard--but no matter. A
wife must be a pearl unspotted.... I am not as the English who take
their wives from the highways, where all men's glances have rested
upon them. Have I not been at their balls? Their women dance in
other men's arms. They marry wives whose hands other men have
pressed. Sometimes--who knows?--their lips have been kissed.... And
then a husband takes her.... Oh, many thanks!"
He laughed sardonically and waved his hands a little wildly. "Oh, I
know English--all the Europeans. I have seen their women. I have
seen them selling their wares--stripping themselves half bare in the
evenings, the shameless--For me, never! My wife is a hidden
treasure. You know what the poet says:
"'An' there be one who shares with me her love
I'd strangle Love tho' Life by Love were slain,
Saying, O Soul, Death were the nobler choice,
For ill is Love when shared twixt partners twain.
Pages:
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153