When Fitnah KhÂnum entered, the small boy was stamping about on the dais, hurling frightful imprecations at his mother, who was on her knees endeavouring to soothe him. His fez was off, and he had trampled on it in his rage; he tore his clothing. Umm ed-Dahak, crouching by the wall with her narghileh, made clucking noises to attract the child; while the wife of GhandÛr, standing, smiled upon the scene, awaiting the command to bear him off. The floor was littered with his broken playthings. The light that filtered in through the rich lattice was blue with all the dust that he had raised.

“Look, here comes thy grandmother, a great lady. Hush, O Muhammad! Be a good boy. I will give thee such nice sweeties.”

“Mayest thou be ravished and then cut in pieces!” shrieked Muhammad, knuckling both his eyes. Therewith he spurned his mother with his foot.

The visitor remained a moment petrified. It was the first time she had seen her grandson at his worst. Then, boxing both ears of the wife of GhandÛr, who stood grinning near her, she rushed upon the wicked boy, and slapped him hard, regardless of his kicks and blows, his horrid language.

“Learn to respect thy mother, little malefactor,” she admonished him, enforcing every word with punishment. “Thou art no better than a heathen, than a wild beast. Thou wilt merit fire hereafter!”

But Barakah sprang on her like a tigress. “He is my child! Let him alone!” she panted.

“He is thy child, truly, but a Muslim first. To curse and kick his mother is a dreadful crime.”

“Let him alone, I say! By Allah, no one shall chastise my son but me, his mother!”

The ladies, both alike indignant, screamed against each other; Umm ed-Dahak, ever ready to applaud a truth, however adverse, begged her mistress to hear wisdom from the mouth of Fitnah KhÂnum; the wife of GhandÛr was in tears, and all the slave-girls, assembling in the hope to see a fight, shrieked prayers to Allah and implored the ladies to be calm. Muhammad, in disgust at being quite forgotten, set up a dismal howl, which no one heeded.

At length, perceiving the futility of further argument, the visitor retired, by no means vanquished.

“The child must be removed if thou wilt not control him,” were her parting words, unheard of any one amid the din.

In the greatest agitation and distress of mind, Fitnah KhÂnum went back to her carriage and was driven home. She sought immediate audience of MurjÂnah KhÂnum. She had a warm affection for the wife of YÛsuf, and something like a passion for her little grandson. The need to take stern measures with them filled her eyes with tears; but her religion nerved her to perform a duty. A scene like that she had just witnessed must never be allowed to be repeated in a Muslim house.

MurjÂnah’s look grew worried as she heard the story.

“I have spoken to the dear one once, and fain would never speak to her again in chiding tones,” she murmured. “I pity her extremely, for she is alone among us and, I think, afraid. Consider what might have become of one of us if set down all alone amid the life of Europe! But it devolves on us to intervene since YÛsuf, as thou sayest, will not act against her.”

As a result of Fitnah’s allegations, MurjÂnah KhÂnum called a council of the matrons of the family, including in the number her ex-slave, Gulbeyzah, who, as Barakah’s best friend, might plead her cause. But Gulbeyzah, when the case was laid before her, shrugged and cried:

“By Allah, it is true, she will destroy the child! How often have I tried to warn her! But she is haughty in her weakness, and impatient of advice. She loves the fawning voice of her own servants. She has greatly changed. YÛsuf Bey, however, is for discipline. She has more than once complained to me of his severity towards the boy.”

“What good is that when she consoles Muhammad afterwards, and talks about his cruel father? I have heard her,” put in Na’imah, who was a member of the conclave, though a child in years. She spoke with great excitement. All the ladies smiled. MurjÂnah KhÂnum touched her cheek affectionately, and called her the most excellent of little mothers. MurjÂnah added:

“The whole trouble, as I see it, is her want of faith. She has lost the comfort of her own religion, without acquiring ours in more than name. Is such a woman, full of cowardice and self-indulgence, fit to rear a Muslim? Unless she change her whole behaviour, which appears unlikely, for her strength is gone, will it be wise to leave the child with her?”

“No!” came from all sides.

“Let his grandmother take charge of him,” said Leylah KhÂnum.

“God forbid!” cried Fitnah, “lest his mother hate me. Let him be given to the wisest, most benign of women, to our dear MurjÂnah.”

This motion won applause from all the ladies on the divan. They smiled to one another with rouged lips and kohled eyes. The room was beautifully cool and sweet, the cigarettes were of the best, the coffee excellent, and every one enjoyed the sense of doing serious business.

MurjÂnah showed no fear of the responsibility. Assured of Fitnah KhÂnum’s gracious help, she said the task of civilizing the small boy would not displease her; but first the menfolk had to be consulted, and due warning must be given to the luckless mother. The ladies Fitnah, Leylah, and MurjÂnah were deputed to convey the verdict of the council to the Pasha and to YÛsuf Bey, who were invited to MurjÂnah’s rooms that evening.

YÛsuf displayed some irritation when he heard the charges.

“But my wife is a Frank!” he cried. “Allah knows it is but natural her ways should be different from ours.”

MurjÂnah took no notice of the interruption, but proceeded to relate the scene described by Fitnah. She mentioned also facts which he could not gainsay, as that Muhammad never kissed his father’s hand, that he sat down in his father’s presence without asking leave, and that he did not wait upon his parents as behoved a child. YÛsuf was silenced, though he looked annoyed. The Pasha wore his blandest diplomatic visage.

“With thy permission, O my lord,” said the great lady, “we have thought upon this matter and discussed it fully. If it be allowed for us to proffer a suggestion, it is that thou, who didst endow the bride of YÛsuf and stand in some sort for her people at the wedding, shouldst of thy gracious favour go and reason with her.”

The Pasha, fingering his beads, observed that God is merciful.

“Of thy kindness condescend to view the case,” she urged. “The boy is brought up utterly devoid of reverence. What is his fate when he goes out to face the world—unmannerly, rebellious, a mad dog, a savage, detestable alike to great and small. Of what use will he be to El IslÂm? Oh, God forbid that he should grow like that—a scourge to his two parents, and the scorn of others. It is to save him and his mother from the consequences of her folly that we beg thee of thy mercy to remonstrate with her, and if she will not hearken, to confide the education of the child to us. The word is spoken. May our Lord preserve thee ever!”

“May Allah help us all!” replied the Pasha gently.

When he and YÛsuf had departed from the ladies and were returning through dim corridors to the selamlik, he inquired:

“What sayest thou?”

“They much exaggerate,” said YÛsuf warmly. “I keep an eye upon the boy. In course of time I shall correct his conduct.”

“Do it now!”

“What meanest thou? Why dost thou smile, my father?”

“I smile because I have observed that when the women take that tone—‘of thy great kindness deign to listen,’ and the rest, there is no safe course for man but to obey. The boy is five years old and it is time he learnt behaviour. It is thy business, O my son; remonstrate with her.”

“Nay, for they charged thee with the office.”

“It is thine of right.”

“Very gladly I resign it to thee. Thy words have more weight. And how can I turn round upon her suddenly? She will think me mad.”

“By Allah, I implore thee to perform thy duty.”

“By the Prophet, I beseech, adjure thee to befriend me now, as thou hast done from childhood. I will tell her to expect a visit from thee in the morning.”

“Well, God is greatest!” The good Pasha heaved a sigh, proclaiming his acceptance of the part allotted.

Accordingly, next morning, arrayed in his official black frock-coat and newest fez, he waited upon Barakah, who received him with delight, evidently unsuspecting the real purpose of his visit. He thought that YÛsuf might at least have warned her. However, with a shrug, he opened business in his usual courtly and confiding manner, speaking in French, since servants are born eavesdroppers.

“Madame my daughter,” he began, “from the moment when you did my house the honour of espousing my dear son, I have been your servant and admirer; that is known. YÛsuf himself has not more tender veneration for your many virtues and accomplishments, so rare among us.” He went on to recite the panegyric of her general conduct as a wife and mother, paid tribute to her beauty and her piety, and then said, “But there is one small point on which I have to scold you. In your great goodness, your untiring kindness, you forget to claim the service due to you. Your slaves, as I have heard, grow fat and lazy, and though devoted to you—as what soul would not be?—do not keep your house so scrupulously clean and nicely ordered as the dwelling-place of such a treasure ought to be. I beg you to make hard your heart from time to time, to think a little less for others and more often for yourself. Even your own son should be brought up to reverence you, as one to whom he owes incalculable debts of gratitude. He should kiss your hand whenever he approaches, and bow and ask your blessing when he takes his leave. It is our custom for small children and, I think, a good one. How is the little one this morning? Am I not to be allowed to see him for one moment?”

Barakah clapped her hands and, when a slave appeared, gave order for Muhammad to be brought. He came in presently, escorted by his foster-mother, who stood and watched his progress to the dais with loving smiles. He was in docile mood, and Barakah detained him, giving the wife of GhandÛr leave to go.

“What fault is there to find in his behaviour?” she inquired in French, with arch defiance of the Pasha.

“None in the world,” he made reply, with vast politeness, “except that he has not kissed hands, nor waited your permission to sit down with us.”

“Absurd!” laughed Barakah.

“Absurd, in verity, like many of our customs. Only, my cherished daughter, he is one of us and must observe them. If you refuse to teach him the behaviour which we consider fitting for young children, I announce with deep regret that we must take him from you.”

Barakah gasped. She looked for signs of jesting; but the Pasha’s visage, though urbane, was serious.

“It has been told me,” he continued very gravely, “that this boy, when angry, kicks and curses his own mother. That is, for us others, a most dreadful crime, apart from the regard in which I hold you personally. My grandson must not be brought up to shame our house; the authority of the family must be exerted to avert dishonour. In fact, dear madame, if you will not punish him, he must be given for a while to some one who will do so.”

“But it is unheard of!” cried the mother wildly. “How can you think of such abominable cruelty? He is my child. My right to him exists in nature.”

“And is inalienable,” said the Pasha, with a splendid bow. “No one else can ever bear him, but some one else will have to educate him, since madame refuses.”

“I am an Englishwoman. I shall complain to my Consul.”

“Believe me, dear madame, he will not listen. Your son is a Turkish subject; we inhabit Egypt; and in a case of this sort we allow no interference. The English are a race distinguished for intelligence and force of character; I beg you to display those qualities on this occasion.”

He left her in hysterics, clinging fiercely to her boy.