“To see her? I expected she would be here!” I said.
“Alas! no. The koubba of Sidi-Djebbar cannot be graced by my lady’s presence this moon.”
“Is she here, in El Djezaïr?” I asked quickly.
“Yes. Although thou hast not known it, her lustrous eyes, the Lights of the Harem, hath already gazed upon thee since thy sojourn here. She desireth to have speech with thee.”
“When?”
“Two hours after the sun hath set.”
“And where may I see her?” I asked, impatiently.
“Knowest thou, O Roumi, that in the Jardin Marengo there is a path under the wall of the holy Zaouia of Sidi Abd-er-Rahman. If thou wilt meet me there under the great cedar tree when the moon hath risen, I will conduct thee to her presence. My lady hath named thee Amîn, and must see thee.”
“I will await thee,” I replied. “Go, tell thy mistress that the hours have passed at snail’s pace since we met, that the Amîn weareth her ring, and that he hath not forgotten.”
“Behold! Some one cometh!” she exclaimed in alarm, as a tall Arab appeared at the bend of the path sauntering slowly in our direction. “I must not be seen speaking with thee, an Infidel, within the sacred precincts of the koubba. Till to-night, sidi, slama.”