And, sighing lightly, he folded his arms cross-wise on his breast and stood erect and immovable, looking like some fine statue just endowed by magic with the flush of life. He resembled El-Râmi in features, but was fairer-skinned,--his eyes were softer and more femininely lovely,--his hair, black as night, clustered in thick curls over his brow, and his figure, straight as a young palm-tree, was a perfect model of strength united with grace. But just now he had a strangely absorbed air,--his eyes, though they were intently fixed on El-Râmi’s face, looked like the eyes of a sleep-walker, so dreamy were they while wide-open,--and as he spoke he smiled vaguely as one who hears delicious singing afar off. El-Râmi studied him intently for a minute or two,--then, removing his gaze, pressed a small silver hand-bell at his side. It rang sharply out on the silence. “Féraz!” Féraz started,--rubbed his eyes,--glanced about him, and then sprang towards his brother with quite a new expression,--one of grace, eagerness, and animation, that intensified his beauty and made him still more worthy the admiration of a painter or a sculptor. “El-Râmi! At last! How late you are! I waited for you long--and then I slept. I am sorry! But you called me in the usual way, I suppose?--and I did not fail you? Ah no! I should come to you if I were dead!” He dropped on one knee, and raised El-Râmi’s hand caressingly to his lips. “Where have you been all the evening?” he went on. “I have missed you greatly--the house is so silent.” El-Râmi touched his clustering curls tenderly. “You could have made music in it with your lute and voice, Féraz, had you chosen,” he said. “As for me, I went to see _Hamlet_.” “Oh, why did you go?” demanded Féraz impetuously. “_I_ would not see it--no! not for worlds! Such poetry must needs be spoilt by men’s mouthing of it,--it is better to read it, to think it, to feel it,--and so one actually _sees_ it,--best.” “You talk like a poet,”--said El-Râmi indulgently. “You are not much more than a boy, and you think the thoughts of youth. Have you any supper ready for me?” Féraz smiled and sprang up, left the room, and returned in a few minutes with a daintily-arranged tray of refreshments, which he set before his brother with all the respect and humility of a well-trained domestic in attendance on his master. “You have supped?” El-Râmi asked, as he poured out wine from the delicately-shaped Italian flask beside him. Féraz nodded. “Yes. Zaroba supped with me. But she was cross to-night--she had nothing to say.” El-Râmi smiled. “That is unusual!” Féraz went on. “There have been many people here,--they all wanted to see you. They have left their cards. Some of them asked me my name and who I was. I said I was your servant--but they would not believe me. There were great folks among them--they came in big carriages with prancing horses. Have you seen their names?” “Not I.”