Her companion paid the Arab, and sent the camel back to the khan. Then he drew Raie towards one of the fine carob-trees which abound in that district, and bade her rest beneath its shade. She settled herself comfortably on a boulder, and he flung himself down at her side. The opportunity for which he had sought had come.
“Miss Emanuel,” he said suddenly, “are you fond of Heine?”
The question was so unexpected that Raie glanced at him in surprise.
“Do you mean the German poet?” she asked.
“Yes.”
The girl waxed thoughtful.
“I admire his genius,” she replied, at length, “but some of his poems irritate me. He is so apt to descend from the sublime to the ridiculous, and to him absolutely nothing is sacred. He has the poet’s mind without the poet’s soul. What makes you think of Heine, though, just now?”
“I was thinking of a little poem I read of his a long time ago—‘Life’s Salutations.’ It was about meeting each other on the highway of life, but having little time to greet before the postillion gives the starting signal, and we have to be off again.
“‘In passing each other we nod and we greet
With our handkerchiefs waved from the coaches,