veil, and Allah and the prophets forgave me for going uncovered
before men. Then it was that your father, the Boulouk Baschi of the
police, saw me; his eye rested lovingly on the poor girl, and he did
me the honor to make me his wife, and he covered my face with a
veil, that no other man might henceforth see me. It was a great
honor for me that Boulouk Baschi considered me worthy to be his
wife, even his only wife. For he made no use of the privilege
accorded by the prophet and our religion, which allows a man to
conduct several women to his harem. He said the one woman of his
heart should be the one woman of his house. It was a happy year, my
son this first year of our married life. We were not rich, we had
nothing but the salary which your father received from the
tschorbadji, but it was sufficient; when we are happy we do not need
much. You must know, my son, that my heart is not fixed on splendor
and show; it was not my own thoughts that conjured up these proud
dreams. We lived, as I have said, in quiet bliss, hoping that our
happiness might soon be increased by the birth of a child, by you,
my son. One circumstance only dimmed our happiness: this was your
father's service. A bad service, my son! Bands of robbers infested
our peninsula, and it was a dangerous calling to lie in wait for
them, and follow them up into the mountains. I always trembled when
your father went out with his men in pursuit of robbers, and I had
good cause to tremble. Allah had implanted in my soul a foreboding
of coming evil. One day, while engaged in preparing our simple
repast, I heard heavy footsteps, and a subdued murmur of voices
approaching. I knew that some misfortune was impending, and there
was. Your father was brought in a bleeding corpse! He had followed
the robbers far up into the mountains alone, his men refusing to
accompany him. The robbers had surrounded and slain him, disfiguring
his dear face so that I could scarcely recognize it."