"And when are you going again?"
"In Ramazan, if God wills. Or perhaps next Ramazan. We shall see."
"Allah, Allah! How many times have I told you to bring your people here, Shaban? We have plenty of room to build you a house somewhere, and you could see your wife and children every day instead of once in two or three years."
"Wives, wives—a man will not die if he does not see them every day! Besides, it would not be good for the children. In Constantinople they become rascals. There are too many Christians." And he added hastily: "It is better for a boy to grow up in the mountains."
"But we have a mountain here, behind the house," laughed the Pasha.
"Your mountain is not like our mountains," objected Shaban gravely, hunting in his mind for the difference he felt but could not express.
"And that new wife of yours," went on the Pasha. "Is it good to leave a young woman like that? Are you not afraid?"
"No, my Pasha. I am not afraid. We all live together, you know. My brothers watch, and the other women. She is safer than yours. Besides, in my country it is not as it is here."
"I don't know why I have never been to see this wonderful country of yours, Shaban. I have so long intended to, and I never have been. But I must climb my mountain or they will think I have become a rascal too." And, rising from his chair, he gave the Albanian a friendly pat.
"Shall I come too, my Pasha? Zümbül Agha sent word——"