Now Musli was drunk with wine, Guel-Bejaze and Halil Patrona were drunk with love, so that not one of them had any exception to take to the stranger’s words.  Janaki was the only sober man among them, neither wine nor love had any attraction for him, and therefore he whispered in the ear of Halil: 

“For all you know this stranger may be a spy or a thief!”

“What an idea!” Halil whispered back, “why you can see for yourself that he is only an honest baltaji.[1] Sit down, oh, worthy Mussulman,” he continued, turning to the stranger, “and make one of our little party.”

The Berber-Bashi took him at his word.  He ate and drank like one who has gone hungry for three whole days, he was enchanted with the tambourine of Musli, listened with open mouth to his story of the miserly slippers, and laughed as heartily as if he had never heard it at least a hundred times before.

“And now you tell us some tale, most beautiful of women!” said he, wiping the tears from his eyes as he turned towards the damsel, and then Guel-Bejaze, after first kissing her husband and sipping from the beaker extended to her just enough to moisten her lips, thus began: 

“Once upon a time there was a rich merchant.  Where he lived I know not.  It might have been Pera, or Galata, or Damascus.  Nor can I tell you his name, but that has nothing to do with the story.  This merchant had an only daughter whom he loved most dearly.  She had ne’er a wish that was not instantly gratified, and he guarded her as the very apple of his eye.  Not even the breath of Heaven was allowed to blow upon her.”

“And know you not what the name of the maiden was?” inquired the Berber-Bashi.

“Certainly, they called her Irene, for she was a Greek girl.”

Janaki trembled at the word.  No doubt the girl was about to relate her own story, for Irene was the very name she had received at her baptism.  It was very thoughtless of her to betray herself in the presence of a stranger.

“One day,” continued the maiden, “Irene went a-rowing on the sea with some girl friends.  The weather was fine, the sea smooth, and they sang their songs and made merry, to their hearts’ content.  Suddenly the sail of a corsair appeared on the smooth mirror of the ocean, pounced straight down upon the maidens in their boat, and before they could reach the nearest shore, they were all seized and carried away captive.

“Poor Irene! she was not even able to bid her dear father God speed!  Her thoughts were with him as the pirate-ship sped swiftly away with her, and she saw the city where he dwelt recede further and further away in the dim distance.  Alas! he was waiting for her now—­and would wait in vain!  Her father, she knew it, was standing outside his door and asking every passer-by if he had not seen his little daughter coming.  A banquet had been prepared for her at home, and all the invited guests were already there, but still no sign of her!  And now she could see him coming down to the sea-shore, and sweep the smooth shining watery mirror with his eyes in every direction, and ask the sailor-men:  ’Where is my daughter?  Do you know anything about her?’”