“Pardon me, lady,” said Hassan, “if I have done wrong in opening the casement; my head is not accustomed to these odours of aloes and frankincense, and I admitted the air of heaven. If you fear the cold I will close it.”
“I have no fear of cold,” she replied, as a ray shot from those piercing eyes; “let it remain open. But come and sit down on this divan; I have much to say to you in confidence. We can dispense with servants here; the fruits and sherbets will not spoil our conversation.”
Hassan did as he was desired, wondering not a little at the unrestrained language and manners of the Khanum, who had allowed her veil to fall from her head; but he observed that, from the height of the sill of the open casement and of the floor of the room itself, nothing of its interior, save the ceiling, could be seen from the river.
The Khanum, with all her vices, was a woman of shrewd and sagacious intellect, and when she was in the mood few of her sex in the East could be more agreeable and prepossessing. She now employed all her powers to please her young and inexperienced companion, not omitting the artillery of her dark eyes. She observed, however, with secret spite, that the latter fell harmless on the impenetrable armour of Hassan’s inexperience or insensibility. When at length, after something that she had said about love, conjoined with money, pleasure, luxury, &c., Hassan understood her meaning, he replied with a cold and constrained air—
“Lady, we have been mistaken in each other. I came here believing that you were in trouble, and requiring such aid as an honourable man might give you with sword or counsel; and you brought me here thinking that I was a minion or a toy that might be bought with gold, and afterwards cast away like a worn-out dress.”
“Wallah! it is not so, Hassan. Whatever I have been or done before, I love you truly; and if you will only give me your love, all my time and wealth and power shall be spent in making you happy.”
“Lady,” replied Hassan with frank simplicity, “I will not mislead or deceive you. A man cannot give what is not his; I have only one heart, and it is given away. The gold in the Viceroy’s treasury could not repurchase it.”
“Then you refuse and scorn my love,” she said, with kindling fire in her eyes. “Beware how you awaken my hate; none have ever done so and lived to tell it. I have means at hand for breaking your proud spirit. There are dungeons below which never see the light of day; a few weeks or months passed in them, with only black bread to feed on, will perhaps bring you to another frame of mind.”
“Khanum,” he cried, springing to his feet, “I replied to your offered favours with frankness and with courtesy,—your threats I despise.”
“Despise!” she cried, no longer mistress of her rage; “and this to me!” As she spoke she clapped her hands loudly together; one of the eunuchs appeared. “The man and the cord,” she said. The slave retired.