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September 5

Ah, these little heads! If we knew what goes on inside them, we would feel neither pleasure nor delight; rather we would be astonished, and perplexity would take hold of us.

Today, when Samia was at our house asking me for some books to read... I tried to broach with her what I had long ago resolved to broach... I did not want to begin with myself first; rather I tried to make my

talk natural — one word drawing on another until I reached my aim...

I began by calling her to fetch the book "Jane Eyre" from the library room. When we got there, she was jumping and skipping as usual, talking rapidly, then looking at me with a smile as though trying to see how far I approved of her chatter. Suddenly I looked at her and said:

— Samia, I am going to tell you a secret. Do you promise to keep it?

She looked on with the utmost interest, as if she had

come into something precious — for her curiosity is matched only by her beauty and her chatter.

— What is this secret? Tell me, and I promise to tell no one...

Then she laughed with an endearing innocence...

— Yesterday a letter reached me from my brother Ahmad in Paris, in which he tells me he will return in a month...

She gave me no time; she cut me off, saying with a laughing voice:

— Is that the secret?

— No! Will you be quiet a little so I can tell it to you? He has married a French girl named Pauline, and he sent me her picture with the letter...

I do not know — was I blind that morning? I put down her sudden silence and her ceasing to tease to nothing but a feigned interest, or a seriousness meant to prove to me that she was worthy of my good opinion... I did not attend closely to the expression of her face, nor to her response to the talk as news of real consequence to her; all I supposed was that she took interest in the news and stopped talking because it flattered her vanity that I had made her the keeper of my secret...

And I went on talking, saying:

— And he asks me to say nothing for now... He will manage the matter with my father and my mother:

either he will bring her with him next month, or he will come without her, to smooth the way for her...

— Show me her picture...

And when I went and came back with the picture, she stared at it a long while, then said:

— She is very beautiful. What a lovely woman. I wish I were like her.

She did not let me go on any further; she told me she was going home and would see me in the afternoon...

Late in the day I saw her by the sea, but she was not skipping as usual; she was absent and glum, and when I called her to race me... she rose heavily... We ran a little... then she stopped running and threw herself down on the sand.

— What is the matter with you? Why don't you finish the race?

— I am tired; I cannot race.

Then we sat together, her eyes wandering far away, and on her face the marks of daze and gloom... And then, suddenly, I saw her fling herself on the sand... weeping with pain and anguish...

— What is wrong, Samia?

— Nothing; I only feel very tired.

— Tiredness does not weep. Tell me — am I not your great friend? Did I not tell you a secret that no one knows but you?

— I wish you had not told me that secret. I wish you had stayed silent to the very end...