"
She covered her eyes with her hands, and seemed deeply agitated.
Sir Kenneth would have approached, but she waved him back.
"Stand off! thou whose soul Heaven hath suited to its new
station! Aught less dull and fearful than a slavish mute had
spoken a word of gratitude, were it but to reconcile me to my own
degradation. Why pause you?--begone!"
The disguised knight almost involuntarily looked towards the
letter as an apology for protracting his stay. She snatched it
up, saying in a tone of irony and contempt, "I had forgotten--the
dutiful slave waits an answer to his message. How's this--from
the Soldan!"
She hastily ran over the contents, which were expressed both in
Arabic and French, and when she had done, she laughed in bitter
anger.
"Now this passes imagination!" she said; "no jongleur can show so
deft a transmutation! His legerdemain can transform zechins and
byzants into doits and maravedis; but can his art convert a
Christian knight, ever esteemed among the bravest of the Holy
Crusade, into the dust-kissing slave of a heathen Soldan--the
bearer of a paynim's insolent proposals to a Christian maiden--
nay, forgetting the laws of honourable chivalry, as well as of
religion? But it avails not talking to the willing slave of a
heathen hound.
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