"You are thinking how unhappy I shall make my wife," he continued: "how
she will suffer from my bad treatment."
"Oh! no," I exclaimed. "I do not think she will be unhappy. You will, of
course, love _her_, and that is different. You are unkind to _me_, but
then that is not the same."
"You think I do not love _you_," said the Bey, taking my hands and
pressing them so that it seemed as though he would crush them in his
grasp. "You are mistaken, Féliknaz. I love you madly, passionately; I
love you so much that I would rather see you dead here at my feet than
that you should ever belong to any other than to me!"
"Why have you been so unkind to me always, then?" I murmured,
half-closing my eyes, for he was gazing at me with such an intense
expression on his dark, handsome face that I felt I dare not look up at
him again.
"Because when I have seen you suffering through me it has hurt me too;
and yet it has been a joy to me to know you were thinking of me and to
suffer with you, for whenever I have made you unhappy, little one, I
have been still more so myself. Your smiles and your gentleness have
tamed me though, at last; and now you shall be mine, not as Féliknaz the
slave, but as Féliknaz-Hanoum, for I respect you, my darling, as much as
I love you!"
Mourad-bey then took me in his arms and kissed my face and neck, and
then he went back to his rooms, leaving me there leaning on the balcony
and trembling all over.
Allah had surely cared for me, for I had never even dared to dream of
such happiness as this.