“She is kind and tender⁠—O, how dear to me! Go to her, Barakah! Kneel at her feet, embrace her hands, and she will surely pardon.”

“Pardon? What, pray?” exclaimed the bride indignantly. “It is for her to ask pardon of me whom, kindly recollect, she tried to poison.”

“She is older than you; she is my mother. It behoves you to be modest and submissive towards her. I have forgiven all, and so should you. She is my mother.”

It was a relief one morning when the Pasha came and bore the young man off, declaring jokingly that he would die of too much sweet if he remained immured there longer. Of Barakah he said the same, informing her that Leylah Khânum and Gulbeyzah would call that afternoon to take her out upon a round of visits.

Then Yûsuf took to being absent all day long, but came home gladly in the evenings, full of love. He volunteered no tidings of his day’s amusements, and when she questioned him about them seemed to think it odd.