"Ah!" her eyes were downcast and her tone was pained. "That the Fräulein should not believe in my friendship——"
"But I do believe in it——"
"Still," broke in Yeva smiling craftily, "I should very much like to have something by which to remember the Fräulein—the pink sleeping garment which is so sweetly smelling and soft to the touch."
"It is yours, Yeva. See," and Marishka took it from the valise, "I give it to you."
The girl gurgled delightedly, and crooned and kissed the garment like a child with a new doll. She was for trying it on at once and, thus for the moment relieved of Yeva's scrutiny, Marishka bent over the tabourette, pen in hand. But before she wrote she called Yeva again.
"There is no entrance to this house except by the garden, Yeva?" she asked.
"Oh, yes, to the selamlik, the mabein door and this——"
She walked to the side of the room and thrusting aside a heavy Kis-Kelim, showed Marishka a door cunningly concealed in an angle of the wall.
"That leads—where?" Marishka asked.
"To a small court of the next house."