"Enter, pray enter," said the old woman, undoing the iron hasp with a
trembling hand. The door flew open, and there entered a man of a
middling stature, and of a handsome but melancholy countenance. He was
clad in the Circassian dress: the water trickled down his bóurka and
bashlík.[22] Without any apologies, he threw it on the feather-bed, and
began to untie the lopasti of his bashlík which half covered his
face--Fatma, having in the mean time lighted a candle, stood before him
with fear and trembling. The long-whiskered dog, with his tail between
his legs, pressed himself into a corner, and the child, in a fright,
climbed into the fire-place--which, used only for ornaments, was never
heated.

[22] Bashlík--a bonnet worn in bad weather.

"Well, Fatma, you are grown proud," said the unknown; "you do not
recognize old friends."

Fatma gazed at the new-comer's features, and her heart grew light within
her. She recognized Sultan Akhmet Khan, who had ridden in one night from
Kiafir Kounik to Bouináki.

"May the sand fill my eyes that did not recognize their old master!" she
replied, respectfully crossing her arms on her breast. "To say truth,
they are blinded by tears, for her country--for Avár! Forgive an old
woman, Khan!"

"What old age is yours, Fatma? I remember you a little girl, when I
myself could hardly reach the young crows from their nests."