"What is the matter with your wife?"
"I do not know, but you will tell me."
"Well, I must see her," I replied.
"Impossible!" said the Persian. "She is in the harem. I cannot take you there!"
"But how can I tell you what is the matter with her if I do not see her?"
"Give me a piece of that wonderful wet paper, perhaps it will cure her."
"Effendi," said the Usebashe, turning to the Persian, "you cannot tell a horse's age without looking into his mouth. The Frank cannot tell your wife's ailments without looking at her tongue."
A consultation took place between my host and some other Persian visitors. It was at length agreed that, as a hakim, I might be admitted into the harem.
In the meantime, a servant brought in a samovar (tea-urn), which the proprietor had purchased at Erivan; and whilst the Usebashe and myself were drinking tea, with lemon-juice instead of cream—as is the custom in Persia as well as in Russia—my host left the room and proceeded to the harem to announce to his wife that I would see her.
Presently he returned, and, taking my hand, helped me to rise from the ground. Then, going first, he led the way across a yard, surrounded by a high wall and planted with fruit-trees, to a detached building, which I had previously thought was a mosque.