carefully.

"Where did you get it?" he asked, in Turkish.

"From the Valide Khan," answered the Jew, in the same language. "It is a
genuine piece,--a hundred years old at least."

"You probably ask a pound for every year, and a backsheesh for the odd
months," said the other.

"Twenty pounds," answered Marchetto, imperturbably.

"It is worth ten pounds," remarked Balsamides, in English, to Miss
Dabstreak. "If you care to give that, you may buy it with a clear
conscience. But he will take three weeks to think about it."

"To bargain for three weeks!" exclaimed Chrysophrasia. "Oh, no! It takes
my whole energy to bargain for half an hour. The lovely thing,--those
faint, mysterious shades intertwined with the dull gold and silver,--it
breaks my heart!"

Marchetto was obdurate, on that day at least, and with an unusually
grave face he began to fold the embroidery, wrapping it at last in the
inevitable piece of shabby gray linen. The party left the shop, and
threaded the labyrinth of vaulted passages towards the gate. Cutter was
interested in Gregorios, and asked him a great many questions, so that
Chrysophrasia felt she was being neglected, and wore her most mournful
expression. Paul and Hermione came behind, talking a little as they
walked. They reached the bridge on foot, and, paying the toll to the big
men in white who guard the entrance, began to cross the long stretch of
planks which unites Stamboul with Pera. The sun was already low. Indeed,
Marchetto had kept his shop open beyond the ordinary hour of closing,
which is ten o'clock by Turkish time, two hours before sunset, and the
bazaar was nearly deserted when they left it.

Paul and Hermione stopped when they were halfway across the bridge, and
looked up the Golden Horn. Great clouds were piled up in the west,
behind which the sun was hidden, and the air was very sultry. A dull
light, that seemed to cast no shadows, was on all the mosques and
minarets, and down upon the water the air was thick, and the boats
looked indistinct as they glided by. The great useless men-of-war lay as
though water-logged in the heavy, smooth stream, and the flags hung
motionless from the mastheads.

The two stood side by side for a few moments and said nothing. At last
Paul spoke.

"It is going to rain," he said, in an odd voice.

"Yes, it is going to rain," answered his companion.

"On para! Ten paras, for the love of God!" screamed a filthy beggar
close behind them. Paul t