“Behold the wisdom of our Faith,” they said, “which grants to every woman this delight in secret. Women can never truly be the friends of men; their soul is different. If thrown with men for long, they feel fatigue. They ask of men one thing⁠—the gift of love. Here we consort with women, true companions, all day long; and in the night the bridegroom comes, and we are blest. Is not this better than the way of Europe, which sets at nought apparent truths⁠—as that most men love more than one of us, whereas most women need but love itself, the hope of children?”

That was one of the occasions when Barakah would have given anything to have an Englishwoman present, and to watch her face. Another came a few days later when she called upon Gulbeyzah. Alighting from her carriage at the palace door, she saw a baby’s coffin being carried out, and thought at once of turning home again. But already smiling eunuchs stood before her bidding welcome, beseeching her to deign to follow them to the haremlik. Gulbeyzah met her with a kiss on either cheek.

“Come, help us to console Nasîbah,” she exclaimed. “Her baby died this night. She is distracted.”