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 "She did not. Are you not dressed in the material of which sheets are made?"

"And is she not dressed like a saltimbanque?" I argued.

"That is an insult; for she thinks she is correctly dressed. Moreover, my child, we are the conquered race, and they are the masters here. So long as we are the conquered race we must accept insults, but we are not in a position to return them. When you become a woman, teach this bitter truth to your sons, and may be some day we shall no longer need to accept insults."

This was the first time my father had referred to my sons and what I ought to teach them, since the day he had asked me not to think about them but to get well and strong. He remained silent for some time after this, and so did his companion. When we had finished our refreshments my father rose.

"We had better go home now. I fear that something may come of this."

"I fear so, too," the other man said.

The first thing my father asked, at home, was whether a message had come from Saad Pasha.

None had.

He sent me to my room without my customary kiss, and a vague terror brooded over me during the whole restless night.

The next morning when I went to my father's