From that day forth she was the idol of her little world, her every want forestalled by warm solicitude. Murjânah Khânum talked to her in a religious strain; Fitnah, more homely, prepared dainties for her; the Pasha’s sister came and told her stories. The very children talked aloud of her condition, and hailed it as a blessing to the house.
She had a good excuse for shunning the festivities which took place on the arrival of the Emperor of the French in Cairo; though her husband was employed in the reception, and all the ladies were agog to see the Empress. She wished to be entirely Oriental. Frankish talk disgusted her. Any reminder that the Europeans still existed was annoying; how much more to hear them vaunted by her Eastern friends. Yûsuf himself made fun of her fanaticism. The women humoured her conceit with knowing smiles.
Gulbeyzah and Bedr-ul-Budûr, both in the same condition, were her constant visitors. Amînah Khânum gave advice in her brusque way, and as the Englishwoman’s time drew near, did more for her protection than she knew of in her illness; impressing on Muhammad Pasha through Murjânah the necessity of calling in a Frankish doctor, and herself procuring from the Mufti the religious judgment which stilled the angry outcry of the harîm midwives.
The hour of trial came at length—an anguish worse than death, succeeded by a happiness as calm as heaven. From the cries of jubilation filling all the house, from the blessings showered on her within the chamber, she knew that she had borne a son. She saw the blue of evening at the lattice, heard the murmur of the tired city like a voice of waters, and, lulled by vast contentment, fell asleep.
CHAPTER XIX
Never in her life had Barakah seen so many strange old women. There were always four or five of them within her chamber, squatting on mats along the wall, conversing in low tones, ready at a breath to rearrange her pillows, or fetch some posset that was ordered for her. They were all of apelike ugliness, and, going barefoot, moved as noiselessly as ghosts.
The Frankish doctor—an Italian—had pronounced her much too frail to nurse her baby—a decision which excited such dependants of the house as were eligible for the post of foster-mother. This was a great prize, kinship by milk, among the Muslims, being esteemed as genuine and binding as by blood. The wet-nurse thus became a near relation of the family, and all her race had claims upon its bounty. Barakah felt jealous of the woman who usurped her function, till she heard from Fitnah Khânum that the choice had fallen on the wife of her old friend Ghandûr. The girl, a former slave of the harîm, was then presented to her, the baby in her arms; and won her heart by her excessive gratitude. She was touched, too, by the transports of Ghandûr, who sang thanksgiving to her lattice in his simple way. His chant was something in this manner:
“The sun is in my eyes! O happy day!