With this menace, which afforded her some satisfaction, Fitnah Khânum turned back towards the carriage; and the work of packing those redundant bodies was performed anew.
“Heard one ever the like? To hide our dearest from us at the point of death! To keep a mother from a daughter’s sick-bed—a woman from a woman! O Protector!”
The incident, when known, incensed the harîm world. The sick-room had been woman’s temple from of old. To be forbidden access to the bedside of a near relation appeared an outrage, even to the calm Murjânah. The indignation of the slaves was riotous. The injured ladies received many visits of condolence, when Fitnah Khânum’s lamentations were applauded as the voice of right.
“O cruelty,” she sobbed. “To keep us from our darling, when she has most need of us! The Frankish doctors are all monsters, hearts of stone. It is known that they snatch dying people from their friends, to practise on them, omitting even to return the bodies afterwards. They may have skill, but many things they know not, being infidels. The pain I suffer when I think of that sweet girl—the very liver of my darling Yûsuf—lying senseless, an empty house for any demon to inhabit, and not a charm put up for her protection, is excruciating!”
It is characteristic of the harîm life that, though the ladies were thus irritated, near rebellion, no clear word of their grievance reached the Pasha’s ear. There is a wall between the women and the man more real than the mabeyn screen which man erected. The women raise it to secure their privileges; the man, if he perceives it, cannot throw it down. His anger meets with a subservience which foils its aim as surely as loose sheets will stop a bullet. Even Murjânah, who adored the Pasha, kept the harîm secret.
Fitnah Khânum had foretold that Barakah would die, thanks to the ministrations of the Frankish doctor. When she heard that she was fast recovering, she gave praise to Allah, who had saved her life in spite of them. From wishing well to the sick woman, she had grown to love her with all the strength of her impulsive, loyal nature.
The love she bore to Yûsuf was eclipsed. His neglect of her for weeks was scarcely noticed. When at last he did appear, haggard but joyful, her “Praise to Allah” was upon his wife’s account. She made him tell her every detail of the doctor’s treatment, and vowed it was a miracle the girl survived it. From him she learnt the reason of the Pasha’s deference to every edict of that ignoramus. The English Consul had his eye upon the house, watching to note that all was done correctly.
“Consume the Consul!” she exclaimed peremptorily.
“Our Lord consume him utterly!” said Yûsuf. “Yet for one boon I have to thank him. My father, to propitiate him, gives command that I shall visit Paris in the summer with my bride.”
“Allah forbid!” his mother screamed in horror. “Our pearl of pearls to be exposed to vulgar handling, to be cast back into the mire from which she was with pains extracted! Thou wilt not suffer her to go unveiled? For shame, O Yûsuf! To let foul infidels survey thy secret joy.”