“The name of the emir is sacred in his tribe; let him but speak and we will die.
“Not one is more brave; not one is more beautiful; not one is more noble.
“He is hardly twenty years old, and his name is already the terror of other tribes.
“His arm is delicate like that of a woman, but it is strong like that of a warrior.
“His face is smiling, is beautiful like that of the spirit who appears in the dreams of young girls; but it is sometimes terrible like that of the god of battles.
“His voice charms and seduces like a magic philter, but sometimes it bursts forth like a clarion.”
In his enthusiasm, the Bohemian approached Reine and said to her, as he opened the medallion set into the neck of the guzla: “See! see if he is not the most beautiful of mortals!”
The young girl looked at the portrait, and uttered a cry of surprise, almost of terror. The portrait was that of the stranger in the rocks of Ollioules, who had saved the life of her father!
At that moment the door of Reine’s drawing-room was opened, and she saw before her Honorât de Berrol, followed by Captain Luquin Trinquetaille, who had just arrived from Nice on the tartan, The Holy Terror of the Moors, by the Grace of God.