"Her husband had left her in great misery, and alone she plunged into jeopardy," continued Apafi, trying to justify the persecuted woman in every possible manner.
"Oh, poor, unhappy child!" cried Olaj Beg, shaking his head.
"And more than that," sighed Apafi, "the poor woman is big with child."
"What dost thou say?"
"Yes, sir, and flying day and night in all sorts of weathers from her pursuers in such a condition, you can imagine her wretched condition; she was scarce alive, she was on the very threshold of death."
"Allah be gracious to her and extend over her the wings of his mercy!"
Apafi began to think that he had found Olaj Beg in a charitable humour.
"I knew that you would not be angry about her."
"I am not angry, my son, I am not angry. My eyes overflow at her sad fate."
"She, you know, had no share in her husband's faults."