stood still. "What were Mother Khadra's words?" he asked himself.
"'Only he who practises self-denial can enjoy.' Have I not always
said to myself that I would accustom myself to want, and learn to
enjoy by denying myself that which pleases me? Have I not said that
I would not walk on rose-leaves, but learn to tread on thorns, that
my feet might become inured to pain? And now, like a foolish child,
I am delighted at the prospect of entering my cave, my throne-
chamber! 'Only he who practises self-denial can enjoy.' Remember
that, Mohammed, and learn to practise self-denial; I will learn it!"
he cried so loudly that his voice resounded throughout the entire
cave.

He turned and retraced his steps. "I would gladly have gone into my
cave, would gladly have reclined on my mat, have looked up at the
blue sky, and down into the beautiful, sea, that tells me such
wondrous stories. Folly! I can hear stories elsewhere. Scha-er
Mehsed tells stories, too, and on the whole that is more convenient
than to tell them to myself."

He walks on hastily, without turning once to look back at his
beloved grotto, walks on into the world, to men whom he does not
love, and who do not love him.

He will learn to practise self-denial, and joyfully he now says to
himself: "I am already learning it, and now I can also enjoy."

At this moment he observed Tschorbadji Hassan, who had just turned a
corner of the street, advancing, followed by his servants.

When he perceived the boy, he stood still and greeted him with a