Thereupon the hideous negro at the stern, who had noticed the stare of the two Russians, shook his light stick at Alexander, and hissed out something that sounded very like "Kiope 'oul kiopek,"—dog and son of a dog; the oarsmen grinned and pulled harder than ever, and the caïque shot past the pier. Paul shrugged his shoulders contemptuously, but did not translate the Turkish ejaculation to his brother. A boatman stood lounging near them, leaning on a stone post, and following the retreating caïque with his eyes.
"Ask that fellow who she is," said Alexander.
"He does not know," answered Paul. "Those fellows never know anything."
"Ask him," insisted his brother. "I am sure he knows." Paul was willing to be obliging, and went up to the man.
"Do you know who that Khanum is?" he asked, in Turkish.
"Bilmem,—I don't know," replied the man, without moving a muscle of his face.
"Do you know who her father is?"
"Allah bilir,—God knows. Probably Abraham, who is the father of all the faithful." Paul laughed.
"I told you he knew nothing about her," he said, turning to his brother.
"It did you no harm to ask," answered Alexander testily. "Let us take a caïque and follow her."