locked boxes. This prince, whose forbearance and courage and nobility of character we used to hear of — we see nothing from him but rebuff and desertion. It has come to my hearing that he has a palace teeming with comely slave girls and bewitching beauties. And the suspicion steals over me, Marjana, that his heart has fastened upon the love of one of them, so that when I came to him I found him indifferent to me, longing for his heart's beloved carrying him away. I do not blame him, Marjana, for his first love — in love there is no reproach and no blame — but I blame him for betrothing himself to me and marrying me while he knew his heart would never be mine.
Marjana shook her head and said sadly: Ah, my lady. You do not deserve such a recompense, for you are a rose in which eyes delight, a star toward which hearts yearn. But what is to be done, when one's lot in life is not according to one's desert? And I say all this, my lady, only because I have seen from him a sign that leads me to believe these suspicions of yours.
And what have you seen from him, Marjana?
Ah, my mistress. He carries a handkerchief, and he guards it as he would guard the most precious of things; I have seen him spread it out when he is alone and kiss it, then fold it gently and hide it in the pocket of his jacket.
Here the princess seized her maid Marjana, saying in a trembling voice: Marjana, Marjana, what is this you are saying? What color is the handkerchief?
Blue, my lady, and on one of its corners is the figure of a golden crescent facing a star. But why this agitation?
Are you certain of this, Marjana?
Yes.
Marjana, go out now. I want to remain alone. What a simple fool I am!
Hardly had Marjana gone out when the princess heard a faint, soft melody in the garden, accompanied by these words: How wretched are they whose hearts are bound to the love of princesses. For the doors of palaces are hard; every pride is shattered upon their thresholds.
But the princess did not pause to look out of the window; she began descending the stairs in haste. Yet no sooner had she reached the garden than shyness and confusion took hold of her. But the poet-prince drew near her without asking leave, saying: I knew you would come back to me in the end.
Ah, my God — how you must despise me now!
On the contrary, I admire you greatly. And I shall charge Prince Wa'il to treat you gently.
My God, do not mock me in this way. You do not realize the awkwardness of my position now. What a heedless fool I am!
Then come, let us go back to the palace to remedy this confusion of yours.
No — I am afraid to see you in the light.
Then come with me, and let us walk a little, and breathe the fragrance of the desert.
Yes, that is better. But what will you be — a poet, or a prince?
I do not know, by God. But may not the hunters of gazelles also be their poets??
To Europe or Abyssinia — Sobelair
To Europe or Abyssinia
The Belgian company Sobelair
SOBELAIR
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Apply to the general agents for Syria and Lebanon:
Youssef Abdo Abou Jaoude Travel
The well-known Lebanese-Arab office:
In Beirut: al-Balan Street, telephone number 56/55 or 62/80
In Cairo: Ibrahim Pasha Street, tel. 52516
In Alexandria, opposite the National Bank, tel. 24904
Or any travel office. Telegraphic address: Jo Jaoude
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