Hanoum's
slave came rushing in, crying: "Hanoum Effendi! Hanoum Effendi! Your
husband has arrived from Egypt, and is anxiously awaiting you at the
Konak."

The Hanoum, in well-feigned excitement, gathered up her jewelry and,
wishing the Cadi a thousand years of happiness, departed.

The Cadi was thunderstruck, and caressing his beard with grave
affection thoughtfully said: "Allah! Allah! For forty years have I
been judge, but never was a cause pleaded in this fashion before."

WHAT HAPPENED TO HADJI, A MERCHANT OF THE BEZESTAN

Hadji was a married man, but even Turkish married men are not
invulnerable to the charms of other women. It happened one day, when
possibly the engrossing power of his lawful wife's influence was
feeble upon him, that a charming Hanoum came to his shop to purchase
some spices. After the departure of his fair visitor Hadji, do what he
might, could not drive from his mind's eye, either her image, or her
attractive power. He was further greatly puzzled by a tiny black bag
containing twelve grains of wheat, which the Hanoum had evidently
forgotten.

Till a late hour that night did Hadji remain in his shop, in the hope
that either the Hanoum or one of her servants would come for the bag,
and thus give him the means of seeing her again or at least of
learning where she lived. But Hadji was doomed to disappointment, and,
much preoccupied, he returned to his home. There he sat, unresponsive
to his wife's conversation, thinking, and no doubt making mental
comparisons between her and his visitor.

Hadji remained downcast day after day, and at last, giving way to his
wife's entreaties to share his troubles, he frankly told her what had
happened, and that ever since that day his soul was in his visitor's
bondage.

"Oh husband," replied his wife, "and do you not understand what that
black bag containing the twelve grains of wheat means?"

"Alas! no," replied Hadji.

"Why, my husband, it is plain, plain as if it had been told. She lives
in the Wheat Market, at house No. 12, with a black door."

Much excited, Hadji rushed off and found that there was a No. 12 in
the Wheat Market, with a black door, so he promptly knocked. The door
opened, and who should he behold but the lady in question? She,
however, instead of speaking to him, threw a basin of water out into
the street and then shut the door. Hadji, with mingled feelings of
gratitude to his wife for having so accurately directed him, bu