“Kussi ast?” “Anyone here?”
A door on our right opened and the old Hakim, Abdul Wahid, appeared, and raising a curtain ushered us into the room.
The usual charcoal brazier stood in the middle of the carpet, curtains hung by the windows and over the doors.
The curtain over a doorway, at the far side of the room, was slightly pulled back, and, though we could see no one, it was here I heard that the ladies were concealed.
Seated by the side of the brazier was a fair young woman with a baby on her knee. These were the little Prince and his nurse. There were two older women, also nurses, seated by the fire. None of the women were veiled, but each had a cashmere shawl over her head, which she pulled slightly across the lower part of the face. All rose as we entered.
Vaccination of Prince Mahomed Omer.
The Prince was a bright-eyed healthy-looking little fellow, with a skin slightly darker than that of an English baby. He was very much swaddled-up in clothes. Over his head was thrown a square of white cashmere, which was held back from the face and kept in position by a band round the head. A chair and a little table were placed for me, and the inevitable tea was brought.
The Hakim and nurses sat on the ground again. The Armenian remained standing.
Presently, I said to the Armenian, “I am quite ready now to vaccinate the Prince.”
It was broad daylight by this time, and I had my lancet and vaccine lymph with me.