“Balkis!” cried the king.
He said no more, but seized her in his arms, and the head of the queen sank back under the pressure of his lips. But he saw that she was weeping. Thereupon he spoke to her in the low, caressing tones that nurses use to their nurslings. He called her his little blossom and his little star.
“Why do you weep?” he asked. “And what must one do to dry your tears? If you have a desire tell me and it shall be fulfilled.”
She ceased weeping, but she was sunk deep in thought He implored her a long time to tell him her desire. And at last she spoke.
“I wish to know fear.”
And as Balthasar did not seem to understand, she explained to him that for a long time past she had greatly longed to face some unknown danger, but she could not, for the men and gods of Sheba watched over her.
“And yet,” she added with a sigh, “during the night I long to feel the delicious chill of terror penetrate my flesh. To have my hair stand up on my head with horror. O! it would be such joy to be afraid!”
She twined her arms about the neck of the dusky king, and said with the voice of a pleading child:
“Night has come. Let us go through the town in disguise. Are you willing?”
He agreed. She ran to the window at once and looked though the lattice into the square below.