than two score villages and has more than five thousand braves at his beck and call—these, and others of less standing, vie with each other in honouring the distinguished visitors. And after the banqueting, while Ahmed Bey retires to a private room with his host to discuss the political situation, Khalid, to escape the torturing curiosity of the bores and quidnuncs of the evening, goes out to the open court, and under an orange tree, around the gurgling fountain, breathes again of quietude and peace. Nay, breathes deeply of the heavy perfume of the white jasmines of his country, while musing of the scarlet salvias of a distant land.
And what if the salvia, as by a miracle, blossoms on the jasmine? What if the former stifles the latter?
Indeed, one can escape boredom, but not love. One can flee the quidnuncs of the salon, but not the questioning perplexity of one’s heart.
A truce now to ambiguities.
’Tis high time that we give a brief account of what took place after Khalid took leave of Mrs. Gotfry.
Many “devilish mischances” have since then conspired against Khalid’s peace of mind.
For when they were leaving Beirut, only a few minutes before the train started, Mrs. Gotfry, who was also going to Damascus, steps into the same carriage, which he and his companions occupied: mischance first.
Arriving in Damascus they both stay at the same Hotel: mischance second.
At table this time he occupies the seat next to hers, and once, rising simultaneously, their limbs touch: mischance third.