"Yes," said Nicha.
"When I was fourteen," said Mirza, "I too was beautiful; at least my husband and my mirror told me so. There is something in your face that reminds me of the face I used to see in my gla.s.s, but when one grows old, and I am eight-and-twenty, one is sure to see resemblances that do not exist. How prettily they have dressed you! Did Ilderhim, your father, give you these silks and these emeralds?"
"Yes," said Nicha.
"If you are hoping to be a good wife," said Mirza, "you must not think too much of silks and jewels. When I was in Paris, with the Grand Duke, I noticed that the women who had sold themselves had taken their pay in pearls and diamonds. The honest women went more soberly. I see you are of the old tribe--the tribe of Ouled Nail. Let me see your name."
She raised the filigree medallion that hung upon Nicha"s upper arm. She looked at the tattooed crest, started, drew her hand across her eyes, looked again, and fell to trembling. She stood a moment, swaying, and then she staggered to the commandant"s table. She rested one hand upon it and with the other she began playing with Ali"s knife. Her face was gray but her lips were pitifully smiling.
"Monsieur the Chancellor," she said, each word a sob, "you need no longer delay the civil marriage.--I consent to it,--This is my daughter.--It seems," she added, in a whisper, "that Allah has not altogether forgotten me.--He has saved my child from me." And with an exceeding bitter cry she went out.