And so day follows day.
One day there came a tapping at her window. With joy she leaps from her
bed to open it.
It is not Halil but a pigeon--a carrier-pigeon bringing a letter.
Guel-Bejaze opens the letter and reads it through--and a second time she
reads it through, and then she reads it through a third time, and then
she begins to smile and whispers to herself:
"He will be here directly."
From henceforth a mild insanity takes possession of the woman's mind--a
species of dumb monomania which is only observable when her fixed idea
happens to be touched upon.
At eventide she again betakes herself to the road which leads out of the
valley. She shows the letter to an old serving-maid, telling her that
the letter says that Halil is about to arrive, and a good supper must be
made ready for him. The servant cannot read, so she believes her
mistress.
An hour later the woman comes back to the house full of joy, her cheeks
have quite a colour so quickly has she come.
"Hast thou not seen him?" she inquires of the servant.
"Whom, my mistress?"
"Halil. He has arrived. He came another way, and must be in the house by
now."
The servant fancies that perchance Halil has come secretly and she, also
full of joy, follows her mistress into the room where the table has
been spread for two persons.
"Well, thou seest that he is here," cries Guel-Bejaze, pointing to the
empty place, and rushing to the spot, she embraces an invisible shape,
her burning kisses resound through the air, and her eyes intoxicated
with delight gaze lovingly--at nothing.
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