tervals, while I
sat gazing at her, drunk with admiration, and growing hot and cold by
turns, never so much as hearing a single word she said, but listening
only to the unutterable sweetness of the voice that spoke, that
sounded in my ears like the noise of a waterfall coming from a
distance to the ear of one that lies dying of thirst. And all at once,
I broke in abruptly, without any reference whatever to her words: and
I said: O Tarawali, they named thee well who chose thy name: for thou
art indeed like the star on thy brow. And when I think how nearly I
never came to thee at all, I shudder for sheer terror, to think I all
but missed my opportunity, and lost thee for ever. And I owe thee an
apology, for a crime, done to thy divinity in ignorance. Aye!
Chaturika was right, when she told me I was worthy of death, for
confounding thee with her.

And she said, with a sigh: Thou art not listening to what I say. And
then she smiled, with a little smile that shook my heart for delight,
and she said: Aye! Chaturika told me of thy error. But trust her not,
when she speaks of me, for she is a flatterer. And yet, thy crime was
venial, and one easily forgiven: for she is very pretty, as I am not.
But we are wandering from the point, and wasting time, and talking
nonsense. Forget us both, and listen with attention, and I will begin
all over again. And I swept away her beginning with a wave of my hand,
and I exclaimed: It is useless, for I can listen at present to
absolutely nothing. There is no room in my soul for anything but thee.
Speak to me of thyself, and I will listen never moving for the
remainder of my life. And once again she sighed, lifting her hands,
and letting them fall again, as if in despair. And she said gently: If
thou absolutely wilt not attend, where was the use of thy coming at
all? And I said: If thou wilt only send for me every day, at sunset,
for a year, it may be that I shall at last be able to forget thee
sufficiently, for a very little while, to attend to something else.

And suddenly she laughed, with laughter that exactly resembled the
laughter of a child, and she said: Thou art very crafty indeed, but
thy cunning plan would take a long time, with but little result. And
even then, I am not sure I could rely on thy forgetting. And I
exclaimed, with emphasis: Thou art absolutely right, for the moment of
oblivion would never come at all. But O thou miracle of a queen, tell
me at least one thing about thy