ground, whereupon Patrona knelt upon his breast and plucked from his
beard a sufficient number of hairs to serve him as a souvenir. Pelivan,
overpowered by drink and the concussion of his fall, slumbered off where
he lay, while Patrona with his guest, who was already half-dead with
fright, hastened to reach his dwelling.

After traversing a labyrinth of narrow, meandering lanes, and
zig-zagging backwards and forwards through all kinds of gardens and
rookeries, Halil Patrona arrived at last at his own house.

Were we to speak of "his own street door," we should be betraying a
gross ignorance of locality, for in the place where Patrona lived the
mere idea of a street never presented itself to anybody's imagination.
There was indeed no such thing there. The spot was covered by half a
thousand or so of wooden houses, mixed together, higgledy-piggledy, so
inextricably, that the shortest way to everybody's house was through his
neighbour's passage, hall, or courtyard, and inasmuch as the inmates of
whole rows of these houses were in the habit of living together in the
closest and most mysterious harmony, every house was so arranged that
the inhabitants thereof could slip into the neighbouring dwelling at a
moment's notice. In some cases, for instance, the roofs were continuous;
in others the cellars communicated, so that if ever anyone of the
inhabitants were suddenly pursued, he could, with the assistance of the
roofs, passages, and cellars, vanish without leaving a trace behind him.

Halil Patrona's house was of wood like the rest. It consisted of a
single room, yet this was a room which could be made to hold a good
deal. It had a fire-place also, and if perhaps a chance guest were a
little fastidious, he could at any rate always make sure of a good bed
on the roof, which was embowered in vine leaves. There was certainly no