He rose and leaned out. Amid the little throng
of riding-horses, grooms, and attendants who made an open way through
the polyglot crowd of an Algerian caravanserai at noon, he saw the one
dazzling face of which he had so lately dreamed by the water-freshet in
the plains. It was but a moment's glance, for she had already dismounted
from her mare, and was passing within with two other ladies of her
party; but in that one glance he knew her. His discovery of the chain
gave him a plea to seek her. Should he avail himself of it? He hesitated
a while. It would be safest, wisest, best, to deliver up the trinket
to her courier, and pass on his way without another look at that beauty
which could never be his, which could never lighten for him even with
the smile that a woman may give her equal or her friend. She could never
be aught to him save one more memory of pain, save one remembrance the
more to embitter the career which not even hope would ever illumine. He
knew that it was only madness to go into her presence, and feed, with
the cadence of her voice, the gold light of her hair, the grace and
graciousness of her every movement, the love which she would deem such
intolerable insult, that, did he ever speak it, she would order her
people to drive him from her like a chidden hound. He knew that; but he
longed to indulge the madness, despite it; and he did so. He went down
into the court below, and found her suite.
"Tell your mistress that I, Louis Victor, have some jewels which belong
to her, and ask her permission to restore them to her hands," he said to
one of her equerries.
Pages:
677
678
679
680
681
682
683
684
685
686
687
688
689
690
691
692
693
694
695
696
697
698
699
700
701