“O my despair! my wickedness!” the mother shrieked.

“My grief, my desolation; now my joy!” sobbed Yûsuf.

“O Lord, relieve me, for my heart is bursting,” moaned the Pasha.

“Oh, what do I behold. How rapture pains me!” came from bystanders. All, in the selfish orgy of emotion, forgot the terrified and wondering bride, who, understanding not a word of what was said, surveyed a riddle. She asked the Pasha what the matter was. He answered with a hiccup of emotion:

“It is nothing, mademoiselle. It will soon pass. Have no fear!” which only added to her stupefaction.

She had seen such exhibitions in ill-governed nurseries, but never among grownup folks before. To account for all the outcry she imagined some tremendous tragedy, and waited anxiously to learn its nature.