Nourmahal (more passionately). But somewhere the women do not carry water. The poet only thought of doing what somewhere men have done. Here a thousand years are but as yesterday and ten thousand as a watch in the night. I am not I, but an echo of the mad desires of dead men whose dust has been blown across the desert for countless centuries. Why should I not think of my own desires before my dust, too, flies forgotten before the passing caravans?
King Nasrulla. But you are to be my queen. Nothing more can anyone give you in Saranazett.
Nourmahal. And to-morrow or next week your ambassador to the King of the East comes back with letters and pledges of friendship. Perhaps he brings with him the King's daughter.
King Nasrulla. But she is only the official seal of a bond, only a hostage. She is not the rose that I pin over my heart. She is not the nightingale that I love to hear singing in my garden. She is not the face behind the lattice that draws my eager feet. She is not the fountain that will make me drink and drink again.
Nourmahal. But I shall not ride with you into the distance and leave the kings' daughters behind?
King Nasrulla. The King of the East——
Nourmahal. I know. The King of the East has a great army. I must stay in my garden, or I shall have to spend my life talking about the things he likes or dislikes, his angers and his fondnesses, with the women of his harem.
She puts her foot out for his hand, ready to be taken down from the horse.
King Nasrulla. Nourmahal!
Nourmahal. Yes, I must keep my veil before my face and stay within my garden.