her the road to hell! If you are a tchaouth,
(tax-gatherer,) who, to say the truth, is rather worse than Shaitan,
then go about your business. My son-in-law is not at home; he serves as
nouker at Ammalat Bek's; and the Bek has long ago freed me from taxes;
and as for treating idle travellers, don't expect from me even an egg,
much less a duck. Is it in vain, then, that I suckled Ammalat?"

"Will you open, you devil's distaff?" impatiently exclaimed the voice,
"or I will not leave you a plank of this door for your coffin."

The feeble doors shook on their hinges.

"Enter, pray enter," said the old woman, undoing the iron hasp with a
trembling hand. The door flew open, and there entered a man of a
middling stature, and of a handsome but melancholy countenance. He was
clad in the Circassian dress: the water trickled down his bourka and
bashlik.[22] Without any apologies, he threw it on the feather-bed, and
began to untie the lopasti of his bashlik which half covered his
face--Fatma, having in the mean time lighted a candle, stood before him
with fear and trembling. The long-whiskered dog, with his tail between
his legs, pressed himself into a corner, and the child, in a fright,
climbed into the fire-place--which, used only for ornaments, was never
heated.

[22] Bashlik--a bonnet worn in bad weather.

"Well, Fatma, you are grown proud," said the unknown; "you do not
recognize old friends."

Fatma gazed at the new-comer's features, and her heart grew light within
her. She recognized Sultan Akhmet Khan, who had ridden in one night from
Kiafir Kounik to Bouinaki.

"May the sand fill my eyes that did not recognize their old master!" she
replied, respectfully crossing her arms on her breast. "To say truth,
they are blinded by tears, for her country--for Avar! Forgive an old
woman, Khan!"

"What old age is yours, Fatma? I remember you a little girl, when I
myself could hardly reach the young crows from their nests."

"A strange land makes every one old, Khan. In my native mountains I
should still have been fresh as an apple, and here am I like a snowball
fallen from the hill into the valley. Pray come hither, Khan, here it is
more comfortable. What shall I entertain my precious guest with? Is
there nothing the Khan's soul can wish for?"

"The Khan's soul wishes that you should entertain him with your
goodwill."

"I am at your will; speak, command!"

"Listen to me, Fatma! I have no time to waste in words. This