No wonder; it is like a phantasy, this seeing a loved face of the past in the home of a Moor in Algiers.

She must indeed think it an illusion.
Now her hand touches John's face.

Imagine the intense thrill that sweeps over his frame at the impact.

Soul speaks to soul, heart answers heart.
The woman begins to tremble.

The look of frightened wonder upon her face gives way to one of astonishment.
"It is no illusion! Alive! Oh, what does this mean?
Where am I?
Who are you ?" Thus the broken sentences fell from her lips, as though she hardly knows what she says.
John can only think of one reply, and as he puts out his hands, his whole heart is contained in the whispered words: "Oh, my mother!" This seems to break the spell.