“Twelve hours more, and we shall be revenged. The treacherous ingrateful man shall perish, and his blood shall be shed.” Fatme affrighted at the extraordinary motion which she felt within her, and shock’d at the buzzing voice of her Toy, clapt both hands on it, and put herself upon duty to stop its mouth. But the powerful ring continued to act, and the ungovernable Toy breaking through every obstacle, added: “Yes, we shall be revenged. O! thou who hast betray’d me, wretched Kerfael, die, and thou, whom he has preferred to me, O Bimbreloqua, despair!⁠—Twelve hours more! Alas! how tedious will this time appear to me. Hasten, sweet moments, when I shall see the treacherous, the ingrateful Kerfael under the executioner’s knife, his blood trickling down⁠—Ah! Wretch, what have I said? Can I without horror see the dearest object of my love perish? Can I see the fatal weapon lifted up?⁠—Ah! far from me this cruel thought.⁠—He hates me, ’tis true; he has quitted me for Bimbreloqua, but perhaps some time or other⁠—why do I say, perhaps? Love will certainly recall him under my yoke. That little Bimbreloqua is a fancy that will fly off; he must sooner or later be sensible of the injustice of his preference, and the ridiculousness of his new choice. Comfort thyself, Fatme, thou shalt see thy Kerfael again.