“It is no matter,” chuckled Umm ed-Dahak, whose optimism triumphed over every obstacle.

“A girl comes not amiss; she has her uses. Since some are bound to die in early childhood, it is as well in every family to have a few who can be spared. And Yûsuf Bey will thank thee for this gift. The fathers always like to have a girl or two.”

“Why should some die? Inshallah, both of mine will be preserved!” wailed Barakah.

“Inshallah! Yet if all the children born were to survive, there soon would not be room to move in our great houses. For example, take the palace of our lord the Pasha, thy good father. Let me see!” She sat in thought and counted on her fingers: “Murjânah Khânum bore him twenty at the least⁠—all dead; Fitnah Khânum more than that⁠—say thirty⁠—of whom six alive. The mother of Ali⁠—she that was a slave⁠—ten at the least, three living. Then there was another concubine⁠ ⁠…”

“Stop, stop! It is not true! It cannot be,” cried Barakah, with a hysteric laugh.