his
home. He was therefore completely taken by surprise when one day
Mohammed told him with many sighs that the time had now come for him to
go to Constantinople, and fix on a profession for himself. The choice
would be left to him, but he would probably prefer either to be a
soldier or one of the doctors learned in the law, who explain the Koran
to the ignorant people. 'You know the holy book nearly by heart,' ended
the old man, 'so that in a very short time you would be fitted to teach
others. But write to us and tell us how you pass your life, and we, on
our side, will promise never to forget you.'

So saying, Mohammed gave Neangir four piastres to start him in the great
city, and obtained leave for him to join a caravan which was about to
set off for Constantinople.

The journey took some days, as caravans go very slowly, but at last the
walls and towers of the capital appeared in the distance. When the
caravan halted the travellers went their different ways, and Neangir was
left, feeling very strange and rather lonely. He had plenty of courage
and made friends very easily; still, not only was it the first time he
had left the village where he had been brought up, but no one had ever
spoken to him of Constantinople, and he did not so much as know the name
of a single street or of a creature who lived in it.

Wondering what he was to do next, Neangir stood still for a moment to
look about him, when suddenly a pleasant-looking man came up, and bowing
politely, asked if the youth would do him the honour of staying in his
house till he had made some plans for himself. Neangir, not seeing
anything else he could do, accepted the stranger's offer and followed
him home.

They entered a large room, where a girl of about twelve years old was
laying three places at the table.

'Zelida,' said the stranger, 'was I not quite right when I told you that
I should bring back a friend to sup with us?'

'My father,' replied the girl, 'you are always right in what you say,
and what is better still, you never mislead others.' As she spoke, an
old slave placed on the table a dish called pillau, made of rice and
meat, which is a great favourite among people in the East, and setting
down glasses of sherbet before each person, left the room quietly.

During the meal the host talked a great deal upon all sorts of subjects;
but Neangir did nothing but look at Zelida, as far as he could without
being positively rude.

The girl blushe