s--the mother of all women."

"The ugly ones?"

"Yes. We cannot all be beautiful."

"It must be dreadful to be old and ugly like Zubeydeh."

As Marishka brought out brush and comb and a towel, Yeva ran quickly and
procured a mirror--a small cheap affair with tawdry tinsel ornaments.

"You will let me brush your hair, Fraeulein. It will be a great
privilege."

"Of course, child--if you care to."

And while Yeva combed and brushed, Marishka questioned and she answered.
The house in which she lived was near the Sirokac Tor. Her lord and
master was of the Begs of Rataj, once the rulers of a province in
Bosnia, where his father's fathers had lived, but now shorn of his
tithes and a dealer in rugs. He was an old man, yes, but he was good to
her, giving her much to eat and drink, and many clothes. She must ask
him to get some of these pretty soft undergarments from Vienna. And the
Excellency. She had seen him twice, some months before through the
_dutap_, when he had conversed with the Effendi in the adjoining room.
And was the beautiful Fraeulein in love with the Excellency?

Marishka answered her in some sort, listening to the girl's chatter,
meanwhile thinking deeply of the plan that had come into her mind.
Scraps of suggestion that she had gleaned from her talks with Goritz
gave her at least a hope that she might be successful in reaching Hugh
Renwick by messenger. "The English always go to the Europa," he had
said. There, if Hugh Renwick had come to Sarajevo, was the place where a
note would find him. And so, the hair brushing having been successfully
accomplished, she asked the girl if there was someone by whom she could
secretly send a note.

A message! To an Excellency--a Herr Hauptmann--or perhaps a
General--yes. She was sure that it could be managed. She herself perhaps
could take it. Had not the Effendi told her that the Fraeulein was to
want for nothing? And greatly excited at the thought of intrigue,
brought a tabourette which she placed before Marishka, then found paper,
ink and envelopes and squatted upon a pillow, watching eagerly over
Marishka's shoulder. But the girl's scrutiny troubled Marishka. Was she
in the confidence of Captain Goritz? And if not, could she be persuaded
to hold her tongue? Instead of writing at once, Marishka relinquished
the pen and took Yeva's hand.

"It is very necessary for my peace and happiness that the contents of
this note should be only seen by the person to whom it