"Oh, if it is to be an affair of moments! We shall never find the right one. But you were so full of promises—"
"I will do anything," said Aimée, convulsively, "if you will promise me—"
"Come, then a kiss. A peck from my little dove."
She looked at him out of wretched eyes.
"And you promise to free him, not to hurt him—"
"I promise not to hurt a hair of his head. Come, that is generous, isn't it? As to freeing him—h'm—that is for later. Perhaps, if you are very good. A kiss then... and later...."
He bent over her. She shut her eyes and heard the taunt of his laugh. She kissed him, and he laughed again.
"What is it the Afghan poets say? 'Kissed lips lose no sweetness, but renew their freshness with the moon.' Certainly if you have ever been kissed, little bud, you have lost no dew.... Delicious.... I shall hurry back."
He cast a hard look down at her as she sat there, her arms drooping at her sides. He looked about the room as if consideringly, then nodded at an unseen door at the right.
"Fatima is there if you want lights or assistance.... And Alsamit, Yussuf's brother, is at the other door beyond. Do not stir, little bird. I shall be back very soon."