After Saeed had finished his tale, the abbot asked him about Jamila. Saeed replied,
"She went to her room after the meal and hasn't come out — the door remains closed."
The abbot said, "Come, let us go and comfort her."
So they walked together until they reached her room, and there they heard the sounds of mourning and weeping. They stood in silence outside the door, and this is what they heard her saying:
"Oh, what a calamity ... where am I now?
Where is my husband, my beloved?
Where are his servants and attendants?
Where are you, my son Salim?
Alas! Have you become food for the fish,
leaving your poor mother to writhe upon the embers of sorrow?
Would it not have been better that I died for you and your father,
and found rest from the misery of this world?
Is there no way, O my God, to escape these misfortunes?
I wonder… will the prince learn the truth about me?
I fear that if he finds out, he will grow angrier and seek revenge.
Or… perhaps he will take pity on my weakness and accept my repentance!"
Then she began speaking to herself:
"Why are you burdening yourself, poor soul, with such thoughts? Lay your burdens upon this faithful servant, and trust in God ... He will guide you to what is best."
Saeed knocked on the door lightly so as not to startle her. She fell silent.
He said, "Do not be afraid, my lady. It's me, your servant Saeed."
Then he opened the door and entered. He found her in a pitiable state: her clothes soaked with tears, her hair undone, her dress torn, and sobs choking her so much she was on the verge of fainting.
He stepped toward her, took her hand gently, and helped her sit. Then he asked that the abbot be allowed to enter. She gave permission, and the abbot came in. He was astonished by her exceptional beauty, and it deepened his sorrow for her until he could no longer hold back his tears. Yet he composed himself and said gently:
"Be patient, my lady, my daughter ... grief only brings illness. Put your trust in God Almighty, have mercy on yourself, and on this child ... for he is your greatest consolation. Leave all matters in God's hands.
This is Saeed, your loyal servant, who has shared with me your story. I have promised him to keep it a secret between the two of us. Know, my daughter, that I share in your sorrows and will do everything in my power to comfort and assist you.
Consider me a father or a friend to whom you may entrust your burdens."
He continued to speak to her in this way until her fear subsided and she wiped away her tears.
Meanwhile, the abbot was contemplating her beauty, which was accentuated by the sorrow that cloaked her, and the dignity that radiated from her face. She had a wheat-colored complexion, a round face, large black eyes with a mix of sharpness and melancholy, and a graceful manner that exuded dignity and elegance.
Then he resumed:
"Now that I know the truth, let me tell you that none of the monks are here — they've all gone out to work in the fields, and they know nothing of your story. So, what should I say if I'm asked about your arrival?"
Saeed replied,
"Say that we came from Sidon to fulfil a vow we made."
At that moment, they heard a voice calling from the courtyard. The abbot went out and found one of the Emir's men from Beit ed-Din, who had come to summon him to appear before the Emir at his palace.
The abbot's heart filled with dread, but he composed himself, confident in his innocence. He put on his robe and cap and went to the palace (the saray). When he entered the council chamber, awe overtook him ... despite the number of people inside, the room was completely silent. Everyone sat as if petrified, not daring to speak, which was the custom in the Emir's court. No one was allowed to speak on their initiative out of fear of his authority.
Yet the abbot was bolder than most. It seemed that the prince, after converting to Christianity, showed great favour to the clergy.
The prince sat at the head of the chamber, his arm resting on a cushion atop which lay a loaded pistol, which never left his side. No one else shared that seat, for he allowed no one to sit beside him.
No one was allowed to sit beside the prince. He wore a simple robe resembling a caftan, made in Damascus, girded with a woolen sash from Kashmir, in which he carried an inkwell and a dagger encrusted with jewels. Over the caftan he wore a luxurious fur cloak, and on his head was the grand turban. The fez he only began wearing toward the end of his rule, when it had become the symbol of the Ottoman state, worn by all its officials.
The prince was of average height, broad-chested, and broad-shouldered. His appearance was more like that of a lion than a man: a wide and prominent forehead, thick lips, bushy eyebrows with hair hanging down over piercing eyes that seemed to blaze with fire. Between them was a prominent, slightly curved nose, below which sat a long mustache. He had a curly beard that fell over his chest, streaked with a bit of gray.
The floor of the hall was covered with fine carpets and rugs. The abbot entered after removing his shoes at the door, as was customary. He saw the prince seated, surrounded by the dignitaries of his council. The abbot greeted him, saying:
"Good morning, Your Excellency, the Emir."
The prince returned the greeting and allowed him to sit, then ordered coffee and a pipe to be brought to him. The abbot was not pleased by this honor, as he was still anxious about the summons, especially after his uneasiness the previous evening.
The prince looked at the abbot with his piercing eyes, full of intelligence and dignity. Smiling in a way that only increased his awe-inspiring presence, he said in a deep voice:
"Father, some strangers arrived at your monastery yesterday. Who are they?"
The abbot replied:
"Your Excellency, they came from Sidon to fulfill a vow they made to the monastery."
The prince said:
"I think you're either ignorant of the truth or pretending to be... Are you trying to deceive Prince Bashir?"
The abbot immediately stood and replied:
"Pardon me, Your Excellency. You know we are loyal and obedient servants. Nothing like this has ever happened before, and these are not the first people to come here in such a manner. This monastery is famous for its sanctity, and people come from all over the world to fulfill their vows here."
The prince gestured for him to sit again and asked:
"What sect do they belong to?"
The abbot replied:
"It does not matter, my lord. Whatever their sect, the monastery accepts offerings and vows from all sects and religions without exception."
The prince laughed and said:
> "Bring them to me."
The abbot responded:
"At your command, my lord."
He left, worried and afraid of what might happen to Jameela if the prince became angry. When he reached the monastery, he found Jameela and Saeed anxious from waiting. He told them what had happened and reassured them, then said to Jameela:
"Get up, my daughter, dress in your finest, and come with Saeed. I will take you to the prince ... perhaps this will be for the best."
Jameela asked:
"And what about Ghareeb?"
The abbot replied:
"We'll leave him here and ask one of the monks to look after him."
But she said:
"No, no…"
"I will not part from him unless my soul departs from my body. He is my only child, the hope of my life, and I have suffered enough loss!"
The abbot replied:
"Then we will take her with us."
So Jameela put on a dress ... simple and clean, with no embroidery. She combed her hair, braided it, and let it fall over her back. She covered her head with a veil. Having rested from the fatigue of the journey, her face now glowed with renewed light, and its rosy color returned, enhanced by her grace and dignity.