ords in their hands. Only the Sultan remained
behind there with the sailor.

* * * * *

The clocks in the rooms of the Seraglio struck a quarter to ten. The
pen of the dervish in reply to the question of the favorite as to how
many hours she had to live now wrote down "1/4."

At that moment the Kislar-Agasi entered. The favorite went to meet
him, trembling like a lost lamb coming face to face with a wolf.

The Kislar-Agasi bowed deeply, and beckoned to the serving-women of
the Seraglio standing behind him to come forward.

"Has the Sultana accomplished the prescribed ablutions?" said he.

"Yes, my lord!"

"Gird her round the body with a triple row of pearls; fasten on her
turban the bird of paradise with the diamond clasp. Put on her gold
embroidered caftan."

The favorite let them do what they would with her without saying a
word.

The waiting-woman, covering the favorite's face with a light fan,
thickly sewn with tiny gold stars, conducted her to the door which led
to the Porcelain Chamber, and there the Kislar-Agasi left her, after
indicating whither they had to go next.

Guards stood in couples before each one of the doors; the last door
they came to was only protected by a curtain. This was the door of the
cupola chamber where the Sultan had received the sailor.

The favorite could not see the sailor because of the lofty projecting
wings of the throne; she only saw the Sultan sitting on a divan. She
hastened up to him, and when she stood before him she suddenly caught
sight of the stranger regarding her with coldly curious eyes.
Shrinking away with terror, she screamed out "Giaour!" and, wrapping
her veil more closely around her, turned to the Sultan for protection.
Then Mahmoud seized the damsel's trembling hand with one of his, and
with the other raised the veil from the face of his dearest wife in
the presence of the stranger.

The girl shrieked as if her face had been bitten by a serpent; then
she fell at the knees of the Sultan, and looked at the face of the
Grand Signior with an appealing glance for mercy. In the eyes of the
caliph of caliphs the moisture of human compassion sparkled. Poor
Sultana! who would not have pitied her?

Morrison made a courtly bow, and the dragoman not being present, he
expressed his thanks by using the well-known Turkish salutation,
"Salam alakuem!" The extraordinary charms of the damsel made no more
impression upon him than the sight