He was speaking sincerely.
"Fool—fool—that I let you go!—and I would not—no, by the rose-door of Paradise and the golden stairs to the House of Allah, I would not had I loved my full moon of full moons less. She was parted from me; and with whose eyes could I see her so well as with yours, O my falcon? Who else would report to me so truly her words? Love makes men and lions mad; it possessed me; and I should have died of it but for your ministering. Wherefore, O Mirza"—
The Count had been growing restive; now he spoke. "My Lord is about committing himself to some pledge. He were wise, did he hear me first."
"Perhaps so," the Sultan rejoined, uncertainly, but added immediately: "I will hear you."
"It is true, as my Lord said, I am not the Mirza he despatched to Italy. The changes I have undergone are material; and in recounting them I anticipate his anger. He sees before him the most wretched of men to whom death would be mercy."
"Is it so bad? You were happy when you went away. Was not the mission to your content?"
"My Lord's memory is a crystal cup from which nothing escapes—a cup without a leak. He must recall how I prayed to stay with him."
"Yes, yes."
"My dread was prophetic."
"Tell me of the changes."