"It is not hunger for gold that has robbed my bones of their flesh," he replied. "But another hunger, far more raging."
His friend puffed away in silence, and as he puffed, he had in mind an Arab proverb wherein it is said that a man can fall madly in love with the shadow of a woman's heel.
"Then it's the shadow of some woman's heel," he remarked.
"More than her shadow," the miser replied in a parched voice. "I saw her before me, as plainly as I see you. A houri from Paradise."
His friend made no reply. Considering a woman was under discussion it was bad manners to ask questions. He waited, knowing that silence on his part would be the most likely way of hearing the story.
The miser's bony hands clenched, and his tongue went round his bearded lips.
"There was a girl I desired," he began presently. "A milk-white maid, more beautiful than the morning, with hair golden as the sun, and eyes deep blue as desert night. She was a slave, and with my wealth I would have bought her. She was more to me than my gold. But there was another more rich and powerful. And he took her—may his soul perish in hell."
As the miser talked, an amazed look crossed his friend's face.
"And where did you see her, this milk-white maid, with the hair of gold, and deep blue eyes?" he asked quickly.
"In a desert city, a month's journey or more from here."