"God! grant me one moment in my life in which I can say: I am happy."
Her eyes were still closed when the door of the dormitory opened, and Hayat, the oldest duenna of the harem, entered with an air of great secrecy. She was now a shrivelled up bundle of old bones, but formerly she had been the first favourite of Hassan Pasha, and now she was the slave and secret confidante of all the favourites in turn.
Azrael leaned towards her, perceiving from the face of the duenna that she brought some message for her; whereupon the latter advanced and, looking around in case anyone should be lurking there, whispered some words in Azrael's ear.
On hearing these words the odalisk leaped from her seat with a face flushed with joy, while unspeakably tender tears trembled in her eyes. Her hands were involuntarily pressed against her heaving bosom, and her lips seemed to murmur some voiceless prayer.
Some great unusual joy had come upon her, some joy which she had always longed but never dared to hope for. Scarce able to restrain herself she turned towards her comrade, who, after listening to her, gazed wonderingly at her and pressed her hand, exclaiming in a voice of strong conviction: "Then it is true, our prayer has indeed been heard!"
Azrael began merrily putting on her garments, and helped Mariska also to dress; then she sent the duenna with a message to Hassan. She must go again to the mosque of the old dervish to pray, for she had been dreaming of Hassan.
Soon afterwards Hassan himself came to her, took from her arm the golden shackle which fastened the chain that bound her to Mariska, and, ordering her palanquin to be brought up to the door, sent her away to the old dervish; while, seizing the end of the Princess's chain, he led her, together with her child, into his own apartments and there sat down on his cushions, drawing his rosary from his girdle and mumbling the first prayers of the naáma, constantly holding in his hand the end of the Princess's chain.
The Vizier had of late been much given to prayer, for since the lost battle not a soul had come to visit him. The envoys of the Sultan, the country petitioners, the foreign ministers, the begging brotherhoods, all of them had avoided his threshold as if he were dead.
The first day he was painfully affected by this manifestation, but on the second day he commanded the door-keepers to admit none to his presence. Thus, at any rate, he could make himself believe that if nobody came to visit him it was by his express command.
He knew right well that a sentence of death had been written down and that this sentence was meant for one of two persons, either the Princess or himself, where their two shadows mingled a double darkness was cast, and Israfil, the Angel of Death, stood over them with a drawn sword.