Ghandûr, had borne the summons to the Frankish doctor. Having delivered it, he wandered to the Pasha’s house. A creature witless save for love, existing by it, the kindness shown him by the lady Barakah had raised her to the throne of Yûsuf in his mind. Her freak of walking had imparted to his sentiments that touch of pity for one too innocent to face the world which makes of service an angelic trust. He blamed himself for the adventure. When he heard that she was in disgrace and looking wan, he beat his breast. Now that she was like to die through his demerits, his grief was such as caused him actual pains.
Upon arriving at Muhammad Pasha’s house, before he could divulge his woe, he was informed:
“The lady Fitnah has been asking for thee. Go indoors, and wait while they announce thee!”
He was standing in the hall, cocooned in sorrow, when a mob of children burst through the mabeyn, as the great screen which bounds the women’s realm is called, and fell upon him.