REJECTED
Thinking it best not to worry her aunt by informing her of the sudden
turn of affairs at the pasha’s, Armenouhi made no allusion to her
adventure with Hassan; in two days she was to return to Scutari, and
then her aunt’s relationship with her neighbors across the way might
continue as if nothing had happened.
Toward evening of the following day, there was a knock at the door.
Armenouhi went to answer it, and found the pasha standing there. He was
dressed in his most gorgeous uniform; the long sword suspended at his
side was trailing on the ground; and numerous gaudy decorations nearly
covered his breast. Unbidden, he stepped into the hall, entered the
library, and seated himself on the divan. When Vartouhi appeared, he
arose and bowed with profound respect, explaining that he had honored
himself by calling to present his compliments. Coffee was served. To
Armenouhi’s relief, the conversation seemed to indicate that the topic
of the day before had been entirely forgotten. The pasha, however,
thinking that he had ingratiated himself into the aunt’s good will,
abruptly remarked that the object of his visit was to ask for the hand
of her niece, and to request her aid in winning Armenouhi’s affections,
which, he added, would soon come after marriage.
Aunt Vartouhi’s love for Moslems was never conspicuously deep, and
when suddenly there flashed upon her somewhat inactive mind the motive
of the pasha’s pretended kindness, she flew into a rage and heaped
upon his head the wrath that had been pent up in her bosom since her
husband’s disappearance. Never, she declared, would she consent to
Armenouhi’s marriage with a Moslem. Never to a man who already had two
wives. Never to one of that race of murderers who had killed her people
and taken away her husband. She would see her in her grave first.
In spite of Armenhoui’s efforts to calm her, her anger increased. Had
her language, which was far plainer than Hassan was accustomed to
hear, come from a man, he would have felt that he was outmatched; but
coming as it did from a woman, it was not to be endured. The assumed
smile left his face; his great body trembled with rage; and his eyes
projected farther than ever from the flabby folds about them.
“If she does not marry me, you will see her in her grave,” he hissed,
as he brought down his big fist for emphasis, and then glared at the
two women to watch the effect of his words. “If she does not marry me,”
he slowly repeated, apparently enjoying the terror which overspread
their faces, “if she does not marry me within four months, you will see
her in her grave; and if you oppose me, you shall be the first to go;”
and with a haughty grunt he left the room and crossed the street to his
own house.
The two dazed women, remaining as Hassan had left them, stared vacantly
at each other. Too well did they know that his threats were not mere
idle words, for many a Moslem of far less power had forced a Christian
girl to a repulsive marriage. The only course possible for Armenouhi
was to return immediately to the school, where she would be beyond his
reach.
The next morning, as she stepped into the carriage which was to take
her to the boat, she saw a man on the opposite side of the street
watching her. He seemed to be one of those hard-faced, shameless
creatures who swarm the streets of Constantinople to dog the steps of
every stranger, now peering into a closed carriage, now listening to a
whispered conversation, transporting themselves hither and thither with
marvelous rapidity, and appearing in all places and at all times when
least expected.
The Turkish spy is unmistakable. His clothes, usually of a European
pattern, are shabby; his fez sits jauntily on one side of his head; his
nose is flat, as if it had too often poked into the business of others;
his eyes bulge, as if to search deep for secrets; and about his mouth
is a suggestion of a revengeful smile. Though haunting every frequented
place, he seldom speaks, for few will speak with him; he wears no
disguise, and makes no effort to conceal his purpose, for he lacks
all sense of shame. Of all the peculiar specimens of humanity which
Constantinople has ever produced, he is one of the most abominable.
Armenouhi at once recognized the agent of the pasha; but apparently
ignoring him, she climbed into the carriage, and drove away. At the
bridge she glanced back; the spy was following, not ten yards behind.
She bought her ticket for the boat and took a seat on deck; he was
sitting opposite, staring into her face. At Scutari she told the driver
to hurry; yet when she alighted at the school, the spy appeared round
the corner. She ran up the garden walk to ring the bell, and he was
approaching the gate. The powerful porter saw him on the point of
entering, and recognizing what he was, sprang before him.
“Keep out of here,” he called out; “this is American property.”
The spy stood complacently outside the gate and watched Armenouhi
until she disappeared within the building. He then returned to make
his report. Hassan Pasha was not one to abandon his purpose; failure
only sharpened his wits and strengthened his determination. Armenouhi
might be out of his reach for the moment, but he would wait patiently
until the close of the school, and when she was no longer under its
protection, he would force her to yield. To keep himself informed of
the plans of the aunt, he adopted the Turkish method by which he was
rapidly increasing his own fortune, that of bribery, and set his spy to
dog the steps of the Armenian orphan boy whom the charitable Vartouhi
had taken into her home. One day the spy followed the boy to the
market, and with a few well-put words and a big silver mejidieh loosed
his tongue. The kindnesses which the lad had been daily receiving were
forgotten, and he became the pasha’s active agent, repeating all the
thoughts and plans which the confiding aunt whispered in his ear.