Finally he interrupted her. "Morning Star, what are you doing?"
The girl started. "I am praying!"
Bajazet had never seen anything like this before.
"To whom do you pray?" he questioned her, with astonishment.
"To God!"
The Sultan shook his head, for amongst Mussulmans it is not customary for women to pray.
"And why are you praying?"
"That God may be with you when you start for battle, and that He may grant you victory!"
The Sultan was overcome with joy at the idea that Maria should pray to her own God when her husband started for battle—a battle which was to cause the destruction of her God's own altars. This idea was sweeter to him than the thought of the blood to be shed.
"Pray for me. Pray fervently, with all the orthodox prayers to which you are accustomed. I do not understand them, but your prophets will know how they can persuade the ruler of good and evil to act differently to what he had intended, perhaps, a million years before. Tell me about your prayers. I find delight in them. I do not believe in them, but you do, and that is pleasurable to me. And I swear to you by the name of my own prophet Allah, and in the name of your God, that when I return from the battle, concerning which you pray, you shall have whatever your heart desires. In the meantime think of some desire which is as yet unfulfilled—a desire which is yet hardly existent—which may be only a fancy—waken it into life, demand it, and I will fulfil it!"