'At last, a night came when something strange and sad happened. I had
just waked up, and saw her go down into the courtyard. After washing
from head to foot she went back into her room, where she dressed
herself altogether in white. She perfumed herself, and as she did
this she sang, and never had I seen her so contented and joyous as in
this song. Then she turned to the women of the house, and begged them
to pardon the disagreeables which might have been occasioned by her
presence, and the faults which she might have committed towards them;
in a word, she acted exactly like some one who is about to undertake a
long journey. We were all surprised, asking ourselves what that could
mean. In the evening, she wrapped herself in a _chadour_, which she
fixed about her waist, making a band of her _chargud_, then she put on
again her _chagchour_. Her joy as she acted thus was so strange that
we burst into tears, for her goodness and inexhaustible friendliness
made us love her. But she smiled on us and said, "This evening I am
going to take a great, a very great journey." At this moment there
was a knock at the street door. "Run and open," she said, "for they
will be looking for me."

'It was the Kalantar who entered. He went in, as far as her room, and
said to her, "Come, Madam, for they are asking for you." "Yes," said
she, "I know it. I know, too, whither I am to be taken; I know how I
shall be treated. But, ponder it well, a day will come when thy
Master will give thee like treatment." Then she went out dressed as
she was with the Kalantar; we had no idea whither she was being taken,
and only on the following day did we learn that she was executed.'

One of the nephews of the Kalantar, who was in the police, has given
an account of the closing scene, from which I quote the following: