best, angelic soul, one look of yours and I am cured of dreaming! How
happy am I that I can now say with assurance--_au revoir_!



CHAPTER XI.


The poison of calumny burnt into the soul of Ammalát. By the
instructions of the Khan, his nurse Fatma related, with every appearance
of disinterested affection, the story which had been arranged
beforehand, on the same evening that he came with Verkhóffsky to
Bouináki, where they were met by the Shamkhál in obedience to the
Colonel's request. The envenomed shaft struck deep; now doubt would have
been welcomed by Ammalát, but conviction, it seemed, cast over all his
former ties of friendship and blood, a bright but funereal light. In a
frenzy of passion, he burned to drown his revenge in the blood of both;
but respect for the rites of hospitality quenched his thirst for
vengeance. He deferred his intention for a time--but could he forget it?
Every moment of delay fell, like a drop of melted copper, on his heart.
Memory, conviction, jealousy, love, tore his heart by turns; and this
state of feeling was to him so new, so strange, so dreadful, that he
fell into a species of delirium, the more dreadful that he was obliged
to conceal his internal sensations from his former friend. Thus passed
twenty-four hours; the detachment pitched their tents near the village
Bougdén, the gate of which, built in a ravine, and which is closed at
the will of the inhabitants of Bougdén, serves as a passage to Akóush.
The following was written by Ammalát, to divert the agony of his soul
while preparing itself for the commission of a black crime.... ----