Shut up in her palanquin, in the suite of the master, as she was passing with the escort through one of suburbs of Shivas, on their return to the Red River, and was amusing herself with looking at the inhabitants, Turks and Christians, fly, pell-mell, in disorder, so as to hide or prostrate themselves at the sight of the pacha, she remarked one, who, remaining erect and motionless, did not appear to participate in the emotions of the crowd.
Baïla was at first astonished that the guards, the cawas, did not force him to assume a more humble posture; she examines him with more attention and starts. He wears the dress of a Frank, and as far as she can judge through her double veil, and the muslin curtains of the palanquin, which were spangled with gold, his features are those of the unknown.
By a movement quicker than thought, veil, curtains, all are at once thrown aside. It is he—their looks meet. The stranger is troubled. He is doubtless again overcome by the resplendent lustre of so much beauty; then, with an expression full of love, he raises his eyes to heaven, and places one hand upon his heart; he moves quickly in this hand a small brilliant, gilded object which Baïla could not distinguish, for the curtains had already fallen.
This imprudent, daring scene, which occurred in the midst of a crowd, had no witnesses, all were flying or were prostrate on the ground.
During the remainder of the route Baïla believed she had dreamed. What, this stranger, then, was not dead; he had not been denounced by Haïder, and slain by Djezzar. Had she then been unjust and cruel toward these? She owed them a reparation. Perhaps the Frank had been only wounded. This was very light, then, for it had not prevented him from encountering her. Why light? Was not he who feared not to brave every thing to reach her, capable of enduring pain, in order to see her? But what object had he held before her, with his hand on his heart, and his eyes turned toward heaven? Doubtless a present which he wished to make her, which he desired to throw into her palanquin as a souvenir. She had let her spangled curtains fall too quickly. Or rather, is it not some jewel of her own, something which had fallen from her dress, and been found by him at the foot of the plantain, or in the alleys of the garden? Yes, he preserves it as a precious relic, as his guardian amulet which he wears above his heart; for it was from thence he drew it—it was there she saw him replace it in his transport of love.
She then asked, what could this young man be among the Franks, who had remained erect and standing with so bold a look during the passage of the pacha, and whom the cawas had, notwithstanding, appeared to respect? Yes, there were secrets connected with him yet to be discovered. No matter! Whatever the rank or power of this mysterious unknown might be, she is to him an object of frenzied love. Could she doubt it? Her vanity is gratified by it, and in her revery, remembering Egypt and Napoleon a second time, she came to the conclusion that should the unknown ever command an army in the country of the Franks, they might on some fine day invade the pachalick of Shivas.
Until now, in order to rid herself of the narcotic influence of the monotonous life of the harem, Baïla had had recourse to fantasies of all kinds, to her thousand and one caprices, her strifes, her poutings, her revolts, her tyrannies over her master, his lion, and the slaves; now, however, her character appeared to change; she resumed the indolent and equal humor of early days with Djezzar; she tormented her good Mariam and her other serving women less; her taste for dress appeared to be modified; instead of four toilets a-day, she now only made three; she became grave; she reflected; she thought; she thought of the giaour; she reflected on the singular chain of circumstance, which, in despite of her, had mixed up this young man with all her pre-occupations, and all the events of her recluse life.
Without recurring to the dangerous practice of a leaf of haschich bruised in her hookah, or a grain of arsenic dissolved in treacle, her imagination could now create a new and charming world for her. She foolishly pursued her vain reveries about the conquest of Shivas. She saw herself transported to another country—to Paris—where every one could freely admire her beauty, now the property of one only, where she could receive the homage of all, conquering a thousand hearts at once, whilst still reserving her own for the beloved object. Is not that the greatest joy and happiness known on earth to woman?
But could not this revery be realized without the intervention of any army? Baïla waited for some time for some realization of her chimera; then, when she had ceased to think of it, ennui, terrible ennui again took possession of her. Sickly languor succeeded. She sought a cause for her suffering, and that cause she found in the walls of the harem, which oppressed and stifled her.
The Sultan Mahmoud, during the latter part of his life, had permitted his women to leave the seraglio, well escorted and supervised. The younger dignitaries of the Sublime Porte, the avowed partisans of the new order of things, following his example, had in their turn essayed this usage. Baïla knew it, and she determined to conquer this pleasant liberty for herself.