_Chiloque_ after him. A noble Turkish lady met him in a litter borne
by four slaves; she was wrapped like a ghost in a white veil, only that
a pair of large, dark, threatening eyes flashed at the merchant.

He smiled, for he thought that he had found favor in the eyes of an
Eastern houri, and that flattered him; but he soon lost sight of her in
the crowd, and forgot her almost immediately. The next morning however,
a eunuch of the pasha's came to him, to his no small astonishment, and
told him to come with him. He took him to the Sultan's most powerful
deputy, who ruled as an absolute despot in Damascus. They went through
dark, narrow passages, and curtains were pushed aside, which rustled
behind them again. At last they reached a large rotunda, the center of
which was occupied by a beautiful fountain, while scarlet divans ran all
around it. Here the eunuch told the merchant to wait, and left him. He
was puzzling his brains what the meaning of it all could be, when
suddenly a tall, commanding woman came into the apartment. Again a pair
of large, threatening eyes looked at him through the veil, while he knew
from her green, gold-embroidered caftan, that if it was not the pasha's
wife, it was at least one of his favorites, who was before him, and so he
hurriedly knelt down, and crossing his hands on his breast, he put his
head on to the ground before her. But a clear, diabolical laugh made him
look up, and when the beautiful Odalisque threw back her veil, he uttered
a cry of terror, for his wife, his deceived wife, whom he had sold, was
standing before him.

"Do you know me?" she asked with quiet dignity. "Viteska!" "Yes, that was
my name when I was your wife," she replied quickly, in a contemptuous
voice; "but now that I am the pasha's wife, my name is Sarema. I do not
suppose you ever expected to find me again, you wretch, when you sold me
in Varna to an old Jewish profligate, who was only half alive. You see I
have got into better hands, and I have made my fortune, as you said I
should do. Well? What do you expect of me; what thanks, what reward?"

The wretched man was lying overwhelmed, at the feet of the woman whom he
had so shamefully deceived, and could not find a word to say; he had felt
that he was lost, and had not even got the courage to beg for mercy. "You
deserve death, you miscreant," Sarema continued. "You are in my hands,
and I can do whatever I please with you, for the pasha has left your
punishment to