XVII.

In a few moments Selim, the hideous Lala, entered the room, making the

usual salutation as he advanced. He must have recognized Balsamides at

once, for he started and stood still when he saw him, and seemed about

to speak. But my appearance probably prevented him from saying what was

on his lips, and he stood motionless before us. Balsamides assumed a

suave manner, and informed him that he was sent by his Majesty to afford

relief, if possible, to Laleli Khanum Effendi. His Majesty, said

Gregorios, was deeply grieved at hearing of the Khanum's illness, and

desired that every means should be employed to alleviate her sufferings.

He begged that Selim would at once inform the Khanum of the physician's

presence, as every moment might be of importance at such a juncture.

Selim could hardly have guessed the truth. He did not know the court

doctor by sight, and Balsamides played his part with consummate

coolness. The negro could never have imagined that a Frank and a

foreigner would dare to assume the uniform of one of the Sultan's

adjutants,--a uniform which he knew very well, and which he knew that he

must respect. He was terrified when he recognized in the Sultan's

medical adviser the man who had scattered the crowd in the bazaar, and

who had so startled him by his references to the ring, the box, and the

chain. He was frightened, but he knew he could not attempt to resist the

imperial order, and after a moment's hesitation he answered.

"The Khanum Effendi," he said, "is indeed very ill. It is past midnight,

and no one in the harem thinks of sleep. I will prepare the Khanum for

the Effendi's visit."

Thereupon he withdrew, and we were once more left alone. I confess that

my courage rose as I grew more confident of the excellence of my

disguise. If the Lala himself had no doubts concerning me, it was not

likely that any one else would venture to question my identity. As for

Balsamides, he seemed as calm as though he were making an ordinary

visit.

"They will make us wait," he said. "It will take half an hour to prepare

the harem for my entrance. The old lady may be dying, but she will not

sacrifice the formalities. It is no light thing with such as she to

receive a visit from a Frank doctor."

He spoke in a low voice, lest the porter in the hall should hear us. But

he did not speak again. I fancied he was framing his speech to the

Khanum. The preparations within did not take so long as he had expected,

for scarcely ten minutes had elapsed when Selim returned.

"Buyurun," said the negro, shortly. The word is the universal formula in

Turkey for "walk in," "sit down," "make yourself comfortable," "help

yourself."

Balsamides glanced at me, as we both rose from our seats, and I saw that

he was perfectly calm and confident. A moment later I was alone.

Gregorios followed Selim into the hall; then, passing under the heavy

curtain and through a door which the Lala opened on the other side, he

found himself within the precincts of the harem, in a wide vestibule not

unlike the one he had just quitted, though more brilliantly lighted, and

furnished with low divans covered with pale blue satin. There was no one

to be seen, however, and Balsamides followed the negro, who entered a

door on the right-hand side, at the end of the hall. They passed through

a narrow passage, entirely hung with rose-colored silk and matted, but

devoid of furniture, and then Selim raised a curtain and admitted

Gregorios to the presence of the sick lady.

The apartment was vast and brilliantly illuminated with lamps. Huge

mirrors in gilt frames of the fashion of the last century filled the

panels from the ceiling to the wainscoting. In the corners, and in every

available space between the larger ones, small mirrors bearing branches

of lights were hung, and groups of lamps were suspended from the

ceiling. The whole effect was as though the room had been lighted for a

ball. The Khanum had always loved lights, and feeling her sight dimmed

by illness she had ordered every lamp in the house to be lighted,

producing a fictitious daylight, and perhaps in some measure the

exhilaration which daylight brings with it.

The floor of the hall was of highly polished wood, and the everlasting

divans of disagreeable magenta satin, so dear to the modern Turkish

woman, lined the walls on three sides. At the upper end, however, a dais

was raised about a foot from the floor. Here rich Sine and Giordes

carpets were spread, and a broad divan extended across the whole width

of the apartment, covered with silk of a very delicate hue, such as in

the last century was called "bloom" in England. The long stiff cushions,

of the same material, leaned stiffly against the wall at the back of the

low seat, in an even row. Several dwarf tables, of the inlaid sort,

stood within arm's-length of the divan, and on one of them lay a golden

salver, bearing a crystal jar of strawberry preserves, and a glass half

full of water, with a gold spoon in it. In the right-hand corner of the

divan was the Khanum herself.

The old lady's dress was in striking contrast to her surroundings. She

wore a shapeless, snuff-colored gown, very loose and only slightly

gathered at the waist. As she sat propped among her cushions, her feet

entirely concealed beneath her, she seemed to be inclosed in a brown

bag, from which emerged her head and hands. The latter were very small

and white, and might well have belonged to a young woman, but her head

was that of an aged crone. Balsamides was amazed at her ugliness and the

extraordinary expression of her features. She wore no head-dress, and

the bit of gauze about her throat, which properly speaking should have

concealed her face, did not even cover her chin. Her hair was perfectly

black in spite of her age, and being cut so short as only to reach the

collar of her gown, hung straight down like that of an American Indian,

brushed back from the high yellow forehead, and falling like stiff

horse-hair over her ears and cheeks when she bent forward. Her eyes,

too, were black, and were set so near together as to give her a very

disagreeable expression, while the heavy eyebrows rose slightly from the

nose towards the temples. The nose was long, straight, and pointed, but

very thin; and the nostrils, which had once been broad and sensitive,

were pinched and wrinkled by old age and the play of strong emotions.

Her cheeks were hollowed and yellow, as the warped parchment cover of an

old manuscript, seamed with furrows in all directions, so that the

slightest motion of her face destroyed one set of deep-traced lines only

to exhibit another new and unexpected network of wrinkles. The upper lip

was long and drawn down, while the thin mouth curved upwards at the

corners in a disagreeable smile, something like that which seems to play

about the long, slit lips of a dead viper. This unpleasant combination

of features was terminated by a short but prominent chin, indicating a

determined and undeviating will. The ghastly yellow color of her face

made the unnatural brightness of her beady eyes more extraordinary

still.

To judge from her appearance, she had not long to live, and Balsamides

realized the fact as soon as he was in her presence. It was not a fever;

it was no sudden illness which had attacked her, depriving her of

strength, speech, and consciousness. She was dying of a slow and

incurable disease, which fed upon the body without weakening the

energies of the brain, and which had now reached its last stage. She

might live a month, or she might die that very night, but her end was

close at hand. With the iron determination of a tyrannical old woman,

she kept up appearances to the last, and had insisted on being carried

to the great hall and set in the place of honor upon the divan to

receive the visit of the physician. Indeed, for many days she had given

the slaves of her harem no rest, causing herself to be carried from one

part of the house to another, in the vain hope of finding some relief

from the pain which devoured her. All night the great rooms were

illuminated. Day and night the slaves exhausted themselves in the

attempt to amuse her: the trained and educated Circassian girl

translated the newspapers to her, or read aloud whole chapters of Victor

Hugo's Miserables, one of the few foreign novels which have been

translated into Turkish; the almehs danced and sang to their small

lutes; the black slaves succeeded each other in bringing every kind of

refreshment which the ingenuity of the Dalmatian cook could devise; the

whole establishment was in perpetual motion, and had rarely in the last

few days snatched a few minutes of uneasy rest when the Khanum slept her

short and broken sleep. It chanced that Laleli had all her life detested

opium, and was so quick to detect its presence in a sweetmeat or in a

sherbet, that now, when its use might have soothed her agonies, no

member of her household had the courage to offer it to her. Her

sleepless days and nights passed in the perpetual effort to obtain some

diversion from her pain, and with every hour it became more difficult to

satisfy her craving for change and amusement.

Balsamides came forward, touching his hand to his mouth and forehead;

and then approaching nearer, he awaited her invitation to sit down. The

old woman made a feeble, almost palsied gesture with her thin white

hand, and Gregorios advanced and seated himself upon the divan at some

distance from his patient.

"His Majesty has sent you?" she inquired presently, slowly turning her

head and fixing her beady eyes upon his face. Her voice was weak and

hoarse, scarcely rising above a whisper.

"It is his Majesty's pleasure that I should use my art to stay the hand

of death," replied Balsamides. "His Majesty is deeply grieved to hear of

the Khanum Effendi's illness."

"My gratitude is profound as the sea," said Laleli Khanum, but as she

spoke the viper smile wreathed and curled upon her seamed lips. "I thank

his Majesty. My time is come,--it is my kader, my fate. Allah alone can

save. None else can help me."

"Nevertheless, though it be in vain, I must try my arts, Khanum

Effendim," said Balsamides.

"What are your arts?" asked the sick woman, scornfully. "Can you burn me

with fire, and make a new Laleli out of the ashes of my bones?"

"No," said Gregorios, "I cannot do that, but I can ease your pain, and

perhaps you may recover."

"If you can ease my pain, you shall be rich. But you can not. Only Allah

is great!"

"If the Khanum will permit her servant to approach her and to touch her

hand"--suggested Balsamides, humbly.

"Gelinis, come," muttered Laleli. But she drew the pale green veil that

was round her throat a little higher, so as to cover her mouth. "What is

this vile body that it should be any longer withheld from the touch of

the unbeliever? What is your medicine, Giaour? Shall the touch of your

unbelieving hand, wherewith you daily make signs before images, heal the

sickness of her who is a daughter of the prophet of the Most High?"

Balsamides rose from his seat and came to her side. She shrank together

in her snuff-colored, bag-shaped gown, and hesitated before she would

put out her small hand, and her eyes expressed ineffable disgust. But at

last she held out her fingers, and Gregorios succeeded in getting at her

wrist. The pulse was very quick, and fluttered and sank at every fourth

or fifth beat.

"The Khanum is in great pain," said Gregorios. He saw indeed that she

was in a very weak state, and he fancied she could not last long.

"Ay, the pains of Gehennam are upon me," she answered in her hoarse

whisper, and at the same time she trembled violently, while the

perspiration broke out in a clammy moisture on her yellow forehead.

Gregorios produced a small case from his pocket. It is the magical

transformer of the modern physician.

"The prick of a pin," said he, "and your pain will cease. If the Khanum

will consent?"

She was in an access of terrible agony, and could not speak. Gregorios

took from his case a tiny syringe and a small bottle containing a

colorless liquid. It was the work of an instant to puncture the skin of

Laleli's hand, and to inject a small dose of morphine,--a very small

dose indeed, for the solution was weak. But the effect was almost

instantaneous. The Khanum opened her small black eyes, the contortion of

her wrinkled face gave way to a more natural expression, and she

gradually assumed a look of peace and relief which told Gregorios that

the drug had done its work. Even her voice sounded less hoarse and

indistinct when she spoke again.

"I am cured!" she exclaimed in sudden delight. "The pain is gone,--Allah

be praised, the pain is gone, the fire is put out! I shall live! I shall

live!"

Not one word of thanks to Gregorios escaped her lips. It was

characteristic of the woman that she expressed only her own satisfaction

at the relief she experienced, feeling not the smallest gratitude

towards the physician. She clapped her thin hands, and a black slave

girl appeared, one of those called halaik, or "creatures." The Khanum

ordered coffee and chibouques. She had never accepted the modern

cigarette.

"The relief is instantaneous," remarked Balsamides, carefully putting

back the syringe and the bottle in the little case, which he returned to

his pocket.

"Tell me," said the old woman, lowering her voice, "is it the magic of

the Franks?"

"It is, and it is not," answered Gregorios, willing to play upon her

superstition. "It is, truly, very mysterious, and a man who employs it

must have clean hands and a brave heart. And so, indeed, must the person

who benefits by the cure. Otherwise it cannot be permanent. The sins

which burden the soul have power to consume the body, and if there is no

repentance, no device to undo the harm done, the magic properties of the

fluid are soon destroyed by the more powerful arts of Satan."

The Khanum looked anxiously at Balsamides as he spoke. At that moment

the black slave girl returned, bearing two little cups of coffee, while

two other girls, exactly like the first, followed with two lighted

chibouques, a mangal filled with coals, two small brass dishes upon

which the bowls of the pipes were to rest, so as not to burn the carpet,

and a little pair of steel firetongs inlaid with gold. At a sign the

three slaves silently retired. The Khanum drank the hot coffee eagerly,

and, placing the huge amber mouthpiece against her lips, began to inhale

the smoke. Gregorios followed her example.

"What is this you say of Satan destroying the power of your medicine?"

asked Laleli, presently.

"It is the truth, Khanum Effendim," answered Balsamides, solemnly. "If,

therefore, you would be healed, repent of sin, and if you have done

anything that is sinful, command that it be undone, if possible. If not,

your pain will return, and I cannot save you."

"How do you, a Giaour, talk to me of repentance?" asked Laleli, in

scornful tones. "While you try to extract the eyelash from my eye, you

do not see the beam which has entered your own."

"Nevertheless, unless you repent my medicine will not heal you,"

returned Gregorios, calmly.

"What have I to repent? Shall you find out my sin?"

"That I be unable to find it out does not destroy the necessity for your

repenting it. The time is short. If your heart is not clean you will

soon be writhing in a worse agony than when I charmed away your pain."

"We shall see," retorted the Khanum, her features wrinkling in a

contemptuous smile. "I tell you I feel perfectly well. I have

recovered."

But she had hardly spoken, and puffed a great cloud of aromatic smoke

into the still air of the illuminated room, when the smile began to

fade. Balsamides watched her narrowly, and saw the former expression of

pain slowly returning to her face. He had not expected it so soon, but

in his fear of producing death he had administered a very small dose of

morphine, and the disease was far advanced. Laleli, however, though

terrified as she felt that the agony she had so long endured was

returning after so brief a respite, endeavored bravely to hide her

sufferings, lest she should seem to confess that the Giaour was right,

and that it was the presence of the devil in her heart which prevented

the medicine from having its full effect. Gradually, as she smoked on in

silence, Gregorios saw that the disease had got the mastery over her

again, and that she was struggling to control her features. He pretended

not to observe the change, and waited philosophically for the inevitable

result. At last the unfortunate woman could bear it no longer; the pipe

dropped from her trembling hand, and the sweat stood upon her brow.

"I wonder whether there is any truth in what you say!" she exclaimed, in

a voice broken with the pain she would not confess.

"It is useless to deny it," answered Balsamides. "The Khanum Effendim is

already suffering."

"No, I am not!" she said between her teeth. But the perspiration

trickled down her hollow cheeks. Suddenly, unable to hide the horrible

agony which was gnawing in her bosom, she uttered a short, harsh cry,

and rocked herself backwards and forwards.

"It is even so," said Balsamides, eying her coldly, and not moving from

his place as he blew the clouds of smoke into the warm air. "My medicine

is of no use when the soul is dark and diseased by a black deed."

"Where is the medicine?" cried the wretched woman, swaying from side to

side in her agony. "Where is it? Give it to me again, or I shall die!"

"It cannot help you unless you confess your sin," returned her torturer

indifferently.

"In the name of Allah! I will confess all, even to you an unbeliever, if

you will only give me rest again!" cried Laleli. From the momentary

respite the pain seemed far greater than before.

"If you will do that, I will try and save you," answered Balsamides,

producing the case from his pocket. He had been very far from expecting

the advantage he had obtained through the combination of the old woman's

credulity and extreme suffering; but in his usual cold fashion he now

resolved to use it to the utmost. Laleli saw him take the syringe from

the case, and her eyes glittered with the anticipation of immediate

relief.

"Speak," said Gregorios,--"confess your sin, and you shall have rest."

"What am I to confess?" asked the old woman, hungrily watching the tiny

instrument in his fingers.

"This," answered Balsamides, lowering his voice. "You must tell me what

became of a Russian Effendi, whose name was Alexander, whom you caused

to be seized one night in the last week of"----

Again Laleli cried out, and rocked her body, apparently suffering more

than ever.

"The medicine!" she whispered almost inaudibly.--"Quick--I cannot

speak---- am dying of the pain." The perspiration streamed down her

yellow wrinkled face, and Balsamides feared the end was come.

"You must tell me first, or it will be of no use," he said. But he

quickly filled the syringe, and prepared to repeat the former operation.

"I cannot," groaned Laleli. "I die!--quick! Then I will tell."

A physician might have known whether the woman were really dying or not,

but Balsamides' science did not go so far as that. Without further

hesitation he pricked the skin of her hand and injected a small

quantity, a very little more than the first time. The effect was not

quite so sudden as before, but it followed after a few seconds. The

signs of extreme suffering disappeared from the Khanum's face, and she

once more looked up.

"Your medicine is good, Giaour," she said, with the ghost of a

disdainful laugh. But her voice was still very weak and hoarse.

"It will not save you unless you confess what became of the Frank," said

Gregorios, again putting his instrument into the case, and the case into

his pocket.

"It is very easy for me to have you kept here, and to force you to cure

me," she answered with a wicked smile. "Do you think you can leave my

house without my permission?"

"Easily," returned Balsamides, coolly. "I have not come here

unprotected. His Majesty's adjutant is outside. You will not find it

easy to take him prisoner."

"Who knows?" exclaimed Laleli. "The only thing which prevents me from

keeping you is, that I see you have very little of your medicine. It is

a good medicine. But I do not believe your story about repentance. It

may serve for Franks; it is not enough for a daughter of the true

Prophet."

"You shall see. If you wish to avoid further suffering, I advise you to

tell me what became of Alexander Patoff, and to tell me quickly. I was

wrong to give you the medicine until you had confessed, but if you

refuse I have another medicine ready which may persuade you."

"What do I know of your unbelieving dogs of Russians?" retorted the old

woman, fiercely.

"You know the answer to my question well enough. If you do not tell me

within five minutes what I want to know, I will tell you what the other

medicine is."

Laleli relapsed into a scornful silence. She was better of her pain, but

she was angry at the physician's manner. Balsamides took out his watch,

and began to count the minutes. There was a dead silence in the spacious

hall, where the lights burned as brightly as ever, while the heavy

clouds of tobacco smoke slowly wreathed themselves around the

chandeliers and mirrors. The two sat watching each other. It seemed an

eternity to the old woman, but the dose had been stronger this time, and

she was free from pain. At last Balsamides shut his watch and returned

it to his pocket.

"Will you, or will you not, tell me what became of Alexander Patoff,

whom you caused to be seized in or near Agia Sophia, one night in the

last week of the month of Ramazan before the last?"

Laleli's beady eyes were fixed on his as he spoke, with an air of

surprise, not unmingled with curiosity, and strongly tinged with

contempt.

"I know nothing about him," she answered steadily. "I never caused him

to be seized. I never heard of him."

"Then here is my medicine," said Gregorios, coldly. "It is a terrible

medicine. Listen to the pleasure of his Majesty the Hunkyar." He rose,

and pressed the document to his lips and forehead.

"What!" cried Laleli, in sudden terror, her voice gathering strength

from her fright.

"It is an order, dated to-day, to arrest Laleli Khanum Effendi, and to

convey her to a place of safety, where she shall await the further

commands of his Majesty."

"It is false," murmured the Khanum. But her white fingers twisted each

other nervously. "It is a forgery."

"So false," replied Balsamides, with cold contempt, "that the adjutant

is waiting outside, and a troop of horse is stationed within call to

conduct you to the place of safety aforesaid. I can force you to lay his

Majesty's signature on your forehead and to follow me to my carriage, if

I please."

"Allah alone is great!" groaned the Khanum, her head sinking on her

breast in despair. "Kader,--it is my fate."

"But if you will deliver me this man alive, I will save you out of the

hands even of the Hunkyar. I will say that you are too ill to be removed

from your house,--unless I give you my medicine," he added, flattering

her hopes to the last.

"Give me time. I know nothing--what shall I say?" muttered Laleli

incoherently, her thin fingers twitching at the stuff of her

snuff-colored gown, while as she bent her head her short, coarse, black

hair fell over her yellow cheeks, and concealed her expression from

Gregorios.

"You have not much time," he answered. "The pain will soon seize you

more sharply than before. If I arrest you, your sentence will be

banishment to Arabia,--not for this crime, but for that other which you

thought was pardoned. If I leave you here without help, my sentence upon

you is pain, pain and agony until you die. It is already returning; I

can see it in your face."

"I must have time to consider," said Laleli, her old firmness returning,

as it generally did in moments of great difficulty. She looked up,

tossing back her hair. "How long will you give me?"

"Till the morning light is first gray in the sky above Beikos," replied

Gregorios, without hesitation. "But for your own sake you had better

decide sooner."

Laleli was silent. She must have had the strongest reasons for refusing

to tell the secret of Alexander's fate, for the penalty of silence was a

fearful one. She felt herself to be dying, but the morphine had revived

in her the hope of life, and she loved life yet. But to live and suffer,

to go through the horrors of an exile to Arabia, to drag her gnawing

pain through the sands of the desert, was a prospect too awful to be

contemplated. As the effects of the last dose administered began to

disappear, and her sufferings recommenced, she realized her situation

with frightful vividness. Still she strove to be calm and to baffle her

tormentor to the very end. If she had not felt the unspeakable relief

she had gained from his medicine, she would have wished to die, but she

had tasted of life again. The problem was how to preserve this new life

while refusing to answer the question Gregorios had asked of her. She

was so clever, so thoroughly able to deal with difficulties, that if she

could but have relief from her sufferings, so that her mind might be

free to work undisturbed, she still hoped to find the solution. But the

pain was already returning. In a few minutes she would be writhing in

agony again.

"I will wait until morning,--it is not many hours now," said Balsamides,

after a pause. "But I strongly advise you to decide at once. You are

beginning to suffer, and I warn you that unless you confess you shall

not have the medicine."

"I lived without it until you came," answered Laleli. "I can live

without it now, if it is my fate." Her voice trembled convulsively, but

she finished her sentence by a great effort.

"It is not your fate," returned Gregorios. "You can not live without

it."

"Then at least I shall die and escape you," she groaned; but even in her

groan there was a sort of scorn. On the last occasion she had indeed

exaggerated her sufferings, pretending that she was at the point of

death in order to get relief without telling her secret. She had always

believed that at the last minute Balsamides would relent, out of fear

lest she should die, and that she could thus obtain a series of

intervals of rest, during which she might think what was to be done. She

did not know the relentless character of the man with whom she had to

deal.

"You cannot escape me," said Balsamides, sternly. "But you can save me

trouble by deciding quickly."

"I have decided to die!" she cried at last, with a great effort. She

groaned again, and began to rock herself in her seat upon the divan.

"You will not die yet," observed Gregorios, contemptuously. He had

understood that he had been deceived the previous time, and had

determined to let her suffer.

Indeed, she was suffering, and very terribly. Her groans had a different

character now, and it was evident that she was not playing a comedy. A

livid hue overspread her face, and she gasped for breath.

"If you are really in pain," said Balsamides, "confess, and I will give

you relief."

But Laleli shook her head, and did not look up. He attributed her

constancy to an intention to impose upon him a second time by appearing

to suffer in silence rather than to sell her secret for the medicine. He

looked on, quite unmoved, for some minutes. At last she raised her head

and showed the deathly color of her face.

"Medicine!" she gasped.

"Not this time, unless you make a full confession," said Balsamides

calmly. "I will not be deceived again."

The wretched woman cast an imploring glance at him, and seemed trying to

speak. But he thought she was acting again, and did not move from his

seat.

"You understand the price," he said, slowly taking the case from his

pocket. "Tell what you know, and you shall have it all, if you like."

The old Khanum's eyes glittered as she saw the receptacle of the coveted

medicine. Her lips moved, producing only inarticulate sounds. Then, with

a convulsive movement, she suddenly began to try and drag herself along

the divan to the place where Gregorios sat. He gazed at her scornfully.

She was very weak, and painfully moved on her hands and knees, the

straight hair falling about her face, while her eyes gleamed and her

lips moved. Occasionally she paused as though exhausted, and groaned

heavily in her agony. But Balsamides believed it to be but a comedy to

frighten him into administering the dose, and he sat still in his place,

holding the case in his hand and keeping his eyes upon her.

"You cannot deceive me," he said coldly. "All these contortions will not

prevail upon me. You must tell your secret, or you will get nothing."

Still Laleli dragged herself along, apparently trying to speak, but

uttering only inarticulate sounds. As she got nearer to him, still on

her hands and knees, Gregorios thought he had never seen so awful a

sight. The straight black hair was matted in the moisture upon her

clammy face; a deathly, greenish livid hue had overspread her features;

her chin was extended forward hungrily and her eyes shone dangerously,

while her lips chattered perpetually. She was very near to Balsamides.

Had she had the strength to stretch out her hand she could almost have

touched the small black case he held. He thought she was too near, at

last, and his grip tightened on the little box.

"Confess," he said once more, "and you shall have it."

For one moment more she tried to struggle on, still not speaking.

Balsamides rose and quietly put the case into his pocket, anticipating a

struggle. He little knew what the result would be. The miserable

creature uttered a short cry, and a wild look of despair was in her

eyes. Suddenly, as she crawled upon the divan, she reared herself up on

her knees, stretching out her wasted hands towards him.

"Give--give"--she cried. "I will tell you all--he is alive--he is--a

wan--"

Her staring black eyes abruptly seemed to turn white, and instantly her

face became ashy pale. One last convulsive effort,--the jaw dropped, the

features relaxed, the limbs were unstrung, and Laleli Khanum fell

forward to her full length upon her face on the peach-colored satin of

the divan.

She was dead, and Gregorios Balsamides knew it, as he turned her limp

body so that she lay upon her back. She was quite dead, but he was

neither startled nor horrified; he was bitterly disappointed, and again

and again he ground his heel into the thick Sine carpet under his feet.

What was it to him whether this hideous old hag were dead in one way or

another? She had died with her secret. There she lay in her shapeless

bag-like gown of snuff-colored stuff, under the brilliant lights and the

gorgeous mirrors, upon the delicate satin cushions, her white eyes

staring wide, her hands clenched still in the death agony, the coarse

hair clinging to her wet temples.

Presently the body moved, and appeared to draw one--two--three

convulsive breaths. Gregorios was startled, and bent down. But it was

only the very end.

"Bah!" he exclaimed, half aloud, "they often do that." Indeed, he had

many times in his life seen men die, on the battlefield, on the hospital

pallet, in their beds at home. But he had never seen such a death as

this, and for a moment longer he gazed at the dead woman's face. Then

the whole sense of disappointment rushed back upon him, and he hastily

strode down the long hall, under the lamps, between the mirrors, without

once looking behind him.