So he sent slaves with a litter to bring Almasta from the house of mourning to the palace, and when she was come he sent out all the other women and remained alone with her and Zehowah, making her sit down before him so that he could see her face. Her cheeks were pale, for she had not slept, having been occupied in weeping and lamentation during the whole night, and her eyes moved restlessly as those of a person distracted with grief.
Khaled then drew his sword and laid it across his feet as he sat and looked fixedly at Almasta.
'If you do not speak the truth,' he said, 'I will cut off your head with my own hand. Allah is witness.'
When Almasta saw the drawn sword, her face grew whiter than before, and for some moments she seemed not able to breathe. But suddenly she began to beat her breast, and broke out into loud wailings, rocking herself to and fro as she sat on the carpet.
'My husband is dead!' she cried. 'He was young; he was beautiful! He is dead! Wah! Wah! my husband is dead! Kill me too!'
Khaled looked at Zehowah, but she said nothing, though she watched Almasta attentively. Then Khaled spoke to the woman again.
'Make an end of lamenting for the present,' he said. 'It has pleased Allah to take your husband to the fellowship of the faithful. Peace be upon him. Tell us in what manner he died, and what words he spoke when he felt his end approaching, for he was my good friend and I wish to know all.'
Almasta either did not understand or made a pretence of not understanding, but when she heard Khaled's words she ceased from wailing and sobbed silently, beating her breast from time to time.
'How did he die?' Khaled asked in a stern voice.
'He was asleep. He died,' replied Almasta in broken tones.