She swayed as she knelt, and leaned against the divan with closed eyes.
“Exalted father, the perfume of flowers and of the rose-water fountain have given me a faintness. May I retire for a moment with the hakim Abul Qasim to my inner chamber lest I fall at your feet?”
“It is granted, Glory of Women, and the lady Imami shall recite to me your latest verses until you return.”
I came forward making the salutation, and helped the Princess to rise, she leaning on my aged arm, and the lady Imami took her place unrolling a manuscript of verses splendid with Persian illuminations in blue and gold. The Emperor composed himself to listen with pleasure, for it is well known that all the sovereigns of that mighty line were skilled in versifying and just critics of ghazal and suja.
And as we moved forward, I supporting her, the Princess breathed in my ear:
“I meant his death, but Allah knowing my heart knows I am innocent of this hideous thing. O Abul Qasim, father of my soul, is there aid in earth or heaven?”
But what could I say? Only the Great Physician of the Hidden Dispensary could assist that unfortunate. And meanwhile the sweet voice of the lady Imami read aloud the verses of the Princess.
“O love, I am thy thrall.
As on the tulip’s burning petal glows
A spot yet more intense, of deeper dye,