A fortnight of rest and a harsh diet brought me back to myself.
Strength returned, and with it the need to move. From morning till night I paced the lazaretto yard.
Then a Turk arrived from Thessalonica with his family, and they were given the ground floor.
My walks were thus suspended. The only pleasure left me was to spend my time on the balcony overlooking the yard.
I soon saw a Greek slave, a girl of dazzling beauty, for whom I felt the deepest interest.
She spent whole days beside a doorway, always occupied and composed, a book in her hands or embroidery resting on her lap.
If she happened to raise her eyes and to meet mine, she modestly bent her head down. Sometimes she rose and went in slowly, as if she meant to say, "I did not know that someone was looking at me."
She was tall and slender. Her face declared her very young.
Her skin was fair, her hair and eyes black, and the Greek dress, lent her an air of a very exciting voluptuousness.
I was perfectly idle.
I had my old temperament which nature and habit had given me.
And I had this balcony.
Was it likely that I could feast my eyes constantly upon such a charming object without falling desperately in love?
I had heard her speak Lingua Franca with her master, a dignified old man who, like her, felt very weary of the quarantine.
He rarely stayed in the yard. He came out to smoke, paced a little, and vanished again.
More than once I felt the urge to address a few words to her. But I was afraid she might run away and never come out again.
Unable to control myself any longer, I determined to write to her.
To deliver the letter I had only to let it fall from the balcony.
Yet even that carried a risk. She might refuse to pick it up.
So I devised a small stratagem in order not to risk any unpleasant result.
When the yard was empty except for her, I took my chance.
I tore a scrap of paper and folded it like a letter, but left it blank.
Then I dropped it from the balcony as if by accident, while the real letter lay ready between my fingers.
She heard the faint flutter, looked up, then down. After a moment she bent to pick up the folded scrap.
At that instant I let the true letter fall. It landed almost at her feet.
She gathered it as naturally as the first and slipped both into her pocket.
A few minutes later she rose and left the yard with her book.
My letter was somewhat to this effect:
"Beautiful angel from the East, I worship you. I will remain all night on this balcony in the hope that you will come to me for a quarter of an hour, and listen to my voice through the hole under my feet. We can speak softly, and in order to hear me you can climb up to the top of the bale of goods which lies beneath the same hole."
When evening came, I begged our keeper not to lock me in as he always did.
He consented on condition that he would watch me, for if I had jumped down in the yard his life might have been the penalty.
But he promised not to disturb me on the balcony.
At midnight, as I was beginning to give her up, she appeared.
I dropped flat on the boards of the balcony and pressed my face to the little square opening in the floor, scarcely six inches across.
Below, she climbed onto the bale. Her head rose near enough that I could have touched her hair if the wood had not barred me.
She was compelled to steady herself with one hand against the wall for fear of falling.
In that position we talked of love, of ardent desires, of obstacles, of impossibilities, and of cunning artifices.
I told her why I could not jump into the yard.
She answered at once that, even if I could, it would ruin us.
I could never climb back up, and if her master found us together, God alone knew what he would do.
Then she promised to come again, in the same way, every night.
She slid her hand through the opening.
Alas! I could not leave off kissing it, for I thought that I had never in my life touched so soft, so delicate a hand.
But what bliss when she begged for mine! I quickly thrust my arm through the hole, so that she could fasten her lips to the bend of the elbow.
How many sweet liberties my hand ventured to take!
Prudence pulled us apart at last.
She slipped away.
I crept back to my room and found, to my delight, that the keeper was fast asleep.
I had gained all that the wretched arrangement allowed, yet spent the next day turning plans over in my mind, hunting for some way to steal a fuller happiness the following night.
By afternoon I discovered that the feminine cunning of my beautiful Greek was more fertile than mine.
Alone in the yard with her master, she spoke to him in a few Turkish phrases.
He listened, glanced up once, and gave a small nod.
That was all.
Soon after, a servant arrived with the keeper and dragged a large basket of goods beneath my balcony.
She supervised the whole operation. To make the stack safer, she made them lay a bale of cotton across two others, like a bridge.
Guessing at her purpose, I fairly leaped for joy. She had ingeniously devised a ladder.
This way she would stand higher, nearer to my opening by two precious feet.
But I observed that this arrangement carried a flaw.
Even with the extra height she would be forced to bend, cramped and trembling, her back broken into an awkward curve.
The hole was too small for her head to pass.
If she could only stand upright, if only her shoulders could enter, we would be spared that ridiculous torture.
It was necessary at all events to guard against that difficulty; the only way was to tear out one of the planks of the floor of the balcony, but it was not an easy undertaking.
Yet I decided upon attempting it, regardless of consequences;
I went to my room and fetched a large pair of pincers.
Fortune favoured my madness. The keeper was absent.
I knelt, worked in silence, and coaxed out the four big nails that fastened the board. They complained softly as they rose.
When the plank finally loosened under my hand and I knew I could lift it at will, I put away the pincers and waited for night with amorous impatience.
The darling girl came exactly at midnight.
She struggled to climb, especially at the third bale, where her foot found little purchase.
I lifted the loosened plank and thrust my arm down as far as I could. She caught it at once.
With that support she rose steadily, and suddenly she was level enough to slip her head and arms up through the widened space.
Her surprise was like a smile I could feel.
We wasted no time in empty compliments; we only congratulated each other upon having both worked for the same purpose.
The night before, circumstance had given me more power over her than she had over me.
This time it was reversed.
Her hand moved freely over every part of my body it could reach, bold, curious, impatient. My own hand, chained by distance and wood, could travel only halfway down her.
She cursed the man who had packed the bale, because he had not made it half a foot bigger, so as to get nearer to me.
Very likely even that would not have satisfied us, but she would have felt happier
Our pleasures, for all their heat, remained barren.
Still we clung to them until the first pale streak of dawn began to creep into the yard.
I lowered the plank back into its place, fitted it carefully, and went to bed in great need of recruiting my strength.
My dear mistress had informed me that the Turkish Bairam began that very morning, and would last three days during which it would be impossible for her to see me.
The night after Bairam, she did not fail to make her appearance.
She raised herself to the opening, and whispered that she could not be happy without me.
Then, with a sudden rush of courage, she added that she was a Christian, not a Turk, and that I could buy her freedom if I only waited for her once I left the lazaretto.
Her words were simple. Their weight was not.
I was compelled to tell her that I did not possess the means of doing so, and my confession made her sigh.
The following night she returned with a ready plan.
Her master, she said, would sell her for two thousand piasters, and she would give me the sum herself.
She told me that she was still a virgin, that I would not regret the purchase.
Then she unveiled the heart of her scheme.
She would bring me a small casket filled with diamonds. One stone alone was worth the price of her freedom.
The rest, sold carefully, would keep us safe from poverty for the rest of our lives.
Her master, she assured me, would not even notice the loss at first, and if he did, he would never suspect her.
I was in love with this girl but her proposal made me uncomfortable.
Desire pulled in one direction, conscience in another.
I slept badly.
When I woke in the morning, I hesitated no longer.
She brought the casket in the evening
I did not touch it.
Gently, but firmly, I told her I could not accept it and that I never could make up my mind to be accessory to a robbery.
Her face changed. The light in her eyes went out.
She looked wounded, almost offended, and then deeply sad.
She said that my love was not as deep as hers. There was no reproach in her tone, only grief.
Then, with a faint smile that hurt more than tears, she added that she could not help admiring me for being so good a Christian.
This was the last night; probably we would never meet again.
The flame of passion consumed us.
She proposed that I should lift her up to the balcony through the open space.
Where is the lover who would have objected to so attractive a proposal?
I got to my feet.
I was no Hercules, yet I braced myself, slid my hands under her arms, and drew her toward me.
Her body rose slowly.
My breath shortened.
In another heartbeat she would have been in my arms.
Suddenly I feel two hands clamp onto my shoulders.
"What are you about?" cried the keeper.
I let my precious burden drop, she recovered her balance, and vanished into her room without a sound.
Meanwhile I flung myself flat on the balcony, face against the boards, and stayed there like a dead man while the keeper shook me and muttered threats in my ear.
My fingers itched to close on his throat.
At last, I rose from the floor and went to bed without uttering one word, and not even caring to replace the plank.
In the morning the governor came and told us that our quarantine was over.
We were free.
As I stepped out of the lazaretto with my heart cracking in my chest, I turned once toward the yard.
In the shadow of a doorway I saw her, the Greek girl, her face wet, tears running unchecked down her cheeks.
That was our farewell.