“By Allah, that is what I said. We were arguing, a dozen of us, after school. They all opposed me, stating that the French were much the greater and more civilized. I, sure of my contention, asked a master who stood by. He foolishly asserted that the French were stronger. I informed him of his error in all courtesy, when, to my horror, he began abusing me, detained me in the school an hour against my will, and himself remained to gloat on my imprisonment.
“Nor is that all. No sooner was I free than I went to the house of the principal and made complaint of the injustice. He said—the malefactor!—thus escaping from the question, that it was a sin for true believers to quarrel for the sake of infidels. I told him there were Muslimîn among the English, as witness my own mother, who is one of them. He had the rudeness to declare thou art a convert. It was all that I could do to keep from plucking at his beard. I shall ask my father to remove me straightway from a school where lying insults and oppression thus prevail.”
“The principal spoke truth. I am a convert,” murmured Barakah, hanging her head through fear of her son’s shame.
“Merciful Allah!” cried Muhammad, greatly shocked.
But in a moment he recovered from the blow. Kissing her hand, he murmured fondly:
“Be not downcast, O beloved, it is not thy fault. My comrades sneer at converts; but no matter. I shall still maintain that thou wert born in the right way. Thou art still my dearest mother, loved and honoured.”
The lover-like, protecting air became him rarely.