But what is not a living woman capable of asking?
The pen quivered gently as it wrote down the words, "He will love thee till thou diest."
"And when shall I die?"
To this the pen gave no answer.
In vain the favorite pressed her question. How many years, how many months, how many days had she to live? The spirit answered nothing.
"And how shall I die?" asked the woman.
The Sultan shivered at this senseless question, and would have made the girl withdraw; but, in an instant, the pen had written out the answer, "Thou shalt be killed."
The woman grew as pale as a wax figure, and stammered, "Who will kill me?"
Both of them awaited in terror and with baited breath what the pen would answer, and the pen, taking good care not to form a single illegible letter, wrote on the parchment, "Mahmoud!"
The favorite fell unconscious into the arms of the Sultan, who, carrying her away, laid her on the divan, watching over her till she came to herself again, and then comforting her with wise saws.