Ganem.
Speak, was that all? Thou liest, there was more!
Gülistane.
He asked me—
Ganem.
What? But hush, the walls have ears.
[She whispers.]
Beloved!
While thou art speaking, ripes in me a plan,
Most wonderful, note well, and based on this:
He now is but the shadow of himself,
And though he still stands threatening there, his feet
Are clay. His wrath is thunder without lightning.
And—mark me well—all this his lustfulness
Is naught but senile braggadocio.
Gülistane.
Well,
What dost thou base on this?
Ganem.
The greatest hope.
[He whispers.]
Gülistane.
But such a poison—
Suppose there should be one of such a nature,
To end the life, but leave the corpse unmarred—
This poison none will sell thee.
Ganem.
Aye, no man,
A woman will—