The Sultan departed immediately: and indeed there was no time to lose: for it was the night of the twelfth of the moon Rebeg, and the senate was to pronounce sentence on the thirteenth. Fatme was just got into bed, the curtains were not quite closed. A night taper threw a dull light on her countenance. The Sultan thought her beautiful, notwithstanding the violent commotions which disfigured her. Compassion and hatred, grief and revenge, audaciousness and shame were painted in her eyes, according as they succeeded each other in her heart. She uttered deep sighs, shed tears, wiped them off, shed fresh ones, remained some moments with her head drooping and eyes dejected, then suddenly raised them, and darted furious looks towards the heavens. What was Mangogul doing all this time? He was talking to himself, and saying. "These are the symptoms of despair. Her former tenderness for Kerfael has revived in all its violence. She has lost sight of the offence he committed, and has nothing in view but the punishment reserved for her lover." As soon as he had finished these words, he turned the fatal ring on Fatme, and her Toy cried out with vehemence. "Twelve hours more, and we shall be revenged. The treacherous ingrateful man shall perish, and his blood shall be shed." Fatme affrighted at the extraordinary motion which she felt within her, and shock'd at the buzzing voice of her Toy, clapt both hands on it, and put herself upon duty to stop its mouth. But the powerful ring continued to act, and the ungovernable Toy breaking thro' every obstacle, added: "Yes, we shall be revenged. O! thou who hast betray'd me, wretched Kerfael, dye, and thou, whom he has preferred to me, O Bimbreloqua, despair!----Twelve hours more! Alas! how tedious will this time appear to me. Hasten, sweet moments, when I shall see the treacherous, the ingrateful Kerfael under the executioner's knife, his blood trickling down----Ah! Wretch, what have I said? Can I without horror see the dearest object of my love perish? Can I see the fatal weapon lifted up?----Ah! far from me this cruel thought.--He hates me, 'tis true; he has quitted me for Bimbreloqua, but perhaps some time or other----why do I say, perhaps? Love will certainly recall him under my yoke. That little Bimbreloqua is a fancy that will fly off; he must sooner or later be sensible of the injustice of his preference, and the ridiculousness of his new choice. Comfort thyself, Fatme, thou shalt see thy Kerfael again. Yes, thou shalt see him again. Arise quickly, run, fly to remove the dreadful danger which threatens him. Dost thou not tremble to come too late?--But whither shall I run, mean wretch that I am. Does not Kerfael's disdain foretel me, that he has abandoned me for ever. Bimbreloqua enjoys him, and 'tis for her that I was going to save him: ah! let him rather dye a thousand deaths. If he lives no more for me, why should I be concerned for his death?--Yes, I am now convinced that my wrath is just.