On the morrow he left his mean brick dwelling in the Jewry, and
received her alone in a marble-paved chamber in the Palace, the walls
adorned with carvings of flowers and birds, minutely worked, the
ceiling with arabesques formed of thin strips of painted wood, the air
cooled by a fantastic fountain playing into a pool lined with black
and white marbles and red tiling. Lattice-work windows gave on the
central courtyard, and were supplemented by decorative windows of
stained glass, wrought into capricious patterns.
"Peace, O Messiah!" Her smile was dazzling, and there was more of
gaiety than of reverence in her voice. Her white teeth flashed 'twixt
laughing lips. Sabbataï's heart was beating furiously at the sight of
the lady of his dreams. She was clad in shimmering white Italian silk,
which, draped tightly about her bosom, showed her as some gleaming
statue. Bracelets glittered on her white wrists, gems of fire sparkled
among her long, white fingers, a network of pearls was all her
head-dress. Her eyes had strange depths of passion, perfumes breathed
from her skin, lustreless like dead ivory. Not thus came the maidens
of Israel to wedlock, demure, spotless, spiritless, with shorn hair,
priestesses of the ritual of the home.
"Peace, O Melisselda," he replied involuntarily.
"Nay, wherefore Melisselda?" she cried, ascending to the _leewán_ on
which he stood.
"And wherefore Messiah?" he answered.
"I have seen thee in visions--'tis the face, the figure, the prophetic
beauty--But wherefore Melisselda?"