"But, my dear child," I said, "this is all madness—who in the world has told you such nonsense?"
"Mohammed. He heard of the Pasha's return—he has hidden himself."
"But my uncle is a very kind man—he adores me, and does not even intend to see you. Nothing will be changed for us by his return."
Seeing me so calm, she was gradually reassured. Still she was too much possessed by her Turkish notions to believe all at once in such a departure from correct oriental usages.
"Well then," she said as she dried her tears, "he will only kill Mohammed?"
"Not even Mohammed!" I exclaimed, with a smile. "Mohammed is a poor coward, and I will give him a bit of my mind to-morrow, so that he shan't worry you with any more nonsense of this kind."
"You don't mean it?" she replied. "Then he will only get a beating?"
I was about to protest, when I perceived by her first words that she suspected I wanted to play upon her credulity. There was thus a danger of reviving her worst fears, for she would not believe any more of my assurances. I contented myself therefore with promising to intercede with Barbassou-Pasha. Once convinced that Mohammed's punishment would extend no further than his hind-quarters, she troubled herself no more about it, but with the characteristic volatility of these little wild creatures, began to chatter and examine all the things in my room, touching and feeling everything with an insatiable curiosity.
"Come now, you must go home," I said to her, not wishing this little excursion of hers to be discovered.
"Oh, no! Oh, no!" she cried, with childlike delight. "It's your home—do let me look at it!"