Phroso’s answer came now, set to the accompaniment of the saddest, softest, murmuring laugh.
‘Ah, my lord, must you hear it again? Am I not twice shamed already?’
‘Be shamed yet once again,’ I whispered; then I saw the light of gladness master the misty sorrow in her eyes as I had seen once before; and I greeted it, whispering:
‘Yes, a thousand times, a thousand times!’
‘My dear lord!’ she said; but then she sprang back, and the brightness was clouded again as she stood aloof, regarding me in speechless, distressed puzzle.
‘But, my lord!’ she murmured, so low that I scarcely heard. Then she took refuge in a return to her request. ‘You won’t leave me here, will you? You’ll take me somewhere where I can be safe. I—I’m afraid of these men, even though the Pasha is dead.’
I took no notice of the request she repeated. I seemed unable to speak or to do anything else but look into her eyes; and I said, a touch of awe in my voice:
‘You have the most wonderful eyes in all the world, Phroso.’
‘My lord!’ murmured Phroso, dropping envious lids. But I knew she would open them soon again, and so she did.
‘Yes, in all the wide world,’ said I. ‘And I want to hear it again.’