ngs for an hour of freedom, and orders the boatmen to change the
direction. The wind is fresh, so they pull in their oars and hoist the
sail, and the boat glides southward at a rapid pace. But Fatima is
capricious, and is soon tired of the Sea of Marmora, and orders the men
to steer to the nearest quay in Stambul. She gives them two silver
coins, which they take without a word of thanks or civility. She hastens
up to the great bazaar and steps from the hot sunlight of the streets
into cool shade and gloom.

For the bazaars are like tunnels. They are streets and lanes covered
with vaults of stone, where daylight penetrates sparingly through the
cupolas in the roof. Here the heat of summer is not felt, and you can
walk dry-shod on stormy and rainy days. You are soon accustomed to the
darkness, but have great difficulty in finding the way unless you have
been born in Stambul and have often passed through this labyrinth. The
passages are quite narrow, but yet wide enough to allow _droshkies_[3]
and carts to pass through.

The bazaar, then, is an underground town in itself, a town of tradesmen
and artisans. On either side of every street is an endless row of small
open shops, the floors of which are raised a little above the level of
the street, and serve also as counters or show stands. The shops are not
mixed up together, but each industry, each class of goods, has its own
street. In the shoemakers' street, for example, shoes of all kinds are
set out, but the most common are slippers of yellow and red leather,
embroidered and stitched with gold, for men, women, and children, for
rich and poor. For a long distance you can see nothing but slippers and
shoes right and left.

You are very glad when the shoe department comes to an end and you come
to a large street where rich shopkeepers sell brocades of silver, gold,
and silk. It is best not to take much money with you to this street, or
you will be tempted to buy everything you see. Here lie mats from
Persia, embroidered silken goods from India, shawls from Kashmir, and
the finest work of southern Asia and northern Africa. Poor Fatima! Her
husband is wealthy enough, but he has no mind to let her scatter his
money about in the great bazaar. With sad looks she gazes at the
turquoises from Nishapur, the rubies from Badakshan, the pearls from the
coast of Bahrein, and the corals from the Indian Ocean.

When she has spent all the silver coins she has with her, she turns to
lea