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Updated: May 6, 2025
She looked at Safti's ring on her finger, and flushed scarlet in the darkness. Yet she was joyful, triumphant, as she heard the beating of the ship's heart, and saw the lights of Tunis growing fainter in the distance, and felt the onward movement of the Stella d'Italia through the night. She felt herself nearer to Russia with each throb of the machinery. And from Russia she would expiate her sin.
I have made a man who was ill of fever wear a topaz, and he arose from bed and walked happily in the street." "And with an emerald," interrupted the Princess; "have you not preserved sight with an emerald? They told me so." Safti's expression suddenly became grim and suspicious. "Who said that?" he asked sharply. "Abdul. Is it true? Can it be true?" Her cheeks were flushed.
And once again the ship shuddered as the heart of her began to beat, and the ebon water ran backward from her prow. Then the Princess was glad. She laid the hand on which shone Safti's emerald upon the bulwark, and gazed towards the sea, turning her back upon the lights of Hammam-Lif. She thought of safety, of Russia. She did not hear a soft step drawing near upon the deck behind her.
I am an unbelieving dog of a traveller, and I come there in winter, and Safti comes there for me. I, in fact, am Safti's profession. Byrne, and others like me, he lives.
Suddenly Safti's bare legs began to "give." I felt it would be cruel to push on farther. We entered the house, seated ourselves luxuriously upon a baked divan of mud, set our slippers on a reed mat, rolled our cigarettes, and commanded our coffee.
"I do not sell my medicines," Safti answered. "Those who use them must live near me, here in Tunis. When they are healed they give back to me the jewel that has saved them. But you you live far off." With the swiftness of a woman the Princess saw that persuasion would be useless. Safti's face looked hard as brown wood.
Since Safti had spoken the music meant more to me. I tried to read the player's heart in the endless song it made. Trills, twitterings, grace notes, little runs upward ending in the air surely it was a boy's heart, and not unhappy. "It is coming nearer," I said. "Yes. Ah, it is Smaïn!" Safti's one eye is sharp. I had seen no one.
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