ross from
the mosque to the roof where the woman waited for a message. At her feet
lay a small covered basket, from which she took a handful of grain. The
dove Imams forgot their saintly manners in an unseemly scramble as the
white hand scattered the seeds, and while they disputed with one
another, complaining mournfully, another bird, flying straight to the
roof from a distance, suddenly joined them. It was white, with feet like
tiny branches of coral, whereas the doves from the mosque were grey, or
burnished purple.

The woman had been pale, but when the bird fluttered down to rest on the
open basket of grain, colour rushed to her face, as if she had been
struck on each cheek with a rose. None of the doves of the mosque were
tame enough to sit on the basket, which was close to her feet, though
they sidled round it wistfully; but the white bird let her stroke its
back with her fingers as it daintily pecked the yellow grains.

Very cautiously she untied a silk thread fastened to a feather under the
bird's wing. As she did so it fluttered both wings as if stretching them
in relief, and a tiny folded paper attached to the cord fell into the
basket. Instantly the woman laid her hand over it. Then she looked
quickly, without moving her head, towards the square opening at a corner
of the roof where the stairway came up. No one was there. Nobody could
see her from the roof of the mosque, and her roof was higher than any of
the others, except that which covered the private rooms of the marabout.
But the marabout was away, and no one ever came out on his roof when he
was absent.

She opened the folded bit of white paper, which was little more than two
inches square, and was covered on one side with writing almost
microscopically small. The other side was blank, but the woman had no
doubt that the letter was for her. As she read, the carrier-pigeon went
on pecking at the seeds in the basket, and the doves of the mosque
watched it enviously.

The writing was in French, and no name was at the beginning or the end.

"Be brave, my beautiful one, and dare to do as your heart prompts.
Remember, I worship you. Ever since that wonderful day when the wind
blew aside your veil for an instant at the door of the Moorish bath, the
whole world has been changed for me. I would die a thousand deaths if
need be for the joy of rescuing you from your prison. Yet I do not wish
to die. I wish to live, to take you far away and make you so happy