Three days later all was quiet again.
A new name came to the front which quelled the risen tempest—the last scion of the famous Kueprili family, every member of which was a hero.
Achmed Kueprilizade collected together the ten thousand shebejis, bostanjis, and baltajis who dwelt round the Seraglio, and when everyone was in despair attacked the rebels in the open streets, routed them in the piazzas, and in three days seven thousand of the people fell beneath his blows—and so the realm had peace once more.
Janaki also fell. They chopped off his head and he offered not the slightest resistance.
As for Pelivan and Kabakulak they were banished for their cowardice.
So Achmed Kueprilizade became Grand Vizier.
As for Achmed III. he lived nine years longer in the Seven Towers, and tradition says he died by poison.
THE EMPTY PLACE.
Everything was now calm and quiet, and the world pursued its ordinary course; but far away among the Blue Mountains dwells a woman who knows nothing of all that is going on around her, and who every evening ascends the highest summit of the hills surrounding her little hut and gazes eagerly, longingly, in the direction of Stambul, following with her eyes the long zig-zag path which vanishes in the dim distance—will he come to-day whom she has so long awaited in vain?
Every evening she returns mournfully to her little dwelling, and whenever she sits down to supper she places opposite to her a platter and a mug—and so she waits for him who comes not. At night she lays Halil’s pillow beside her, and puts their child between the pillow and herself that he may find it there when he comes.
And so day follows day.
One day there came a tapping at her window. With joy she leaps from her bed to open it.
It is not Halil but a pigeon—a carrier-pigeon bringing a letter.
Guel-Bejaze opens the letter and reads it through—and a second time she reads it through, and then she reads it through a third time, and then she begins to smile and whispers to herself:
“He will be here directly.”
From henceforth a mild insanity takes possession of the woman’s mind—a species of dumb monomania which is only observable when her fixed idea happens to be touched upon.
At eventide she again betakes herself to the road which leads out of the valley. She shows the letter to an old serving-maid, telling her that the letter says that Halil is about to arrive, and a good supper must be made ready for him. The servant cannot read, so she believes her mistress.
An hour later the woman comes back to the house full of joy, her cheeks have quite a colour so quickly has she come.