"Don't be angry, sir!" said Gregory, twisting his moustache at both ends, while Panajot coolly swept together the fragments of the broken bottles and boxes on the floor; "the worthy man did not burn the letter but only the envelope. I had gumption enough not to entrust the inside of it to him."
And with these words he drew from his pouch a letter written on all four sides of the sheet and handed it to Feriz, who before reading it covered with kisses the lines traced by that dear hand, while Master Panajot looked at Gregory in amazement.
"Go along, you old fox, Gregory," said he; "next time you come, I'll throw you into the fire to boot."
But Gregory, highly delighted, feasted his eyes on the youth's face all the time he was reading the letter.
As if his soul had changed within him, as if he had passed from the troubles of this world to the joys of Paradise, every feature of the youth's face became smiling and joyful. The farther he read the brighter grew his eyes; and when he came to the last word he pressed the leaf to his heart with an expression of the keenest rapture, and held it there a long time, closing his eyes as if in a happy dream, as if he had shut them to see no other object when he conjured up her image before his mind.
Master Panajot was alarmed, fancying some mischief had happened to the invalid, and turned upon Gregory with gnashing teeth:
"What infernal document have you brought along with you, Gregory?"
Feriz meanwhile smilingly nodded his head as if he would thank some invisible shape, and whispered softly:
"So it shall be, so it shall be."
"I'm afraid you feel bad, my master," said the doctor.