the center of which was occupied by a beautiful fountain, while scarlet divans ran all around it.  Here the eunuch told the merchant to wait, and left him.  He was puzzling his brains what the meaning of it all could be, when suddenly a tall, commanding woman came into the apartment.  Again a pair of large, threatening eyes looked at him through the veil, while he knew from her green, gold-embroidered caftan, that if it was not the pasha’s wife, it was at least one of his favorites, who was before him, and so he hurriedly knelt down, and crossing his hands on his breast, he put his head on to the ground before her.  But a clear, diabolical laugh made him look up, and when the beautiful Odalisque threw back her veil, he uttered a cry of terror, for his wife, his deceived wife, whom he had sold, was standing before him.

“Do you know me?” she asked with quiet dignity.  “Viteska!” “Yes, that was my name when I was your wife,” she replied quickly, in a contemptuous voice; “but now that I am the pasha’s wife, my name is Sarema.  I do not suppose you ever expected to find me again, you wretch, when you sold me in Varna to an old Jewish profligate, who was only half alive.  You see I have got into better hands, and I have made my fortune, as you said I should do.  Well?  What do you expect of me; what thanks, what reward?”

The wretched man was lying overwhelmed, at the feet of the woman whom he had so shamefully deceived, and could not find a word to say; he had felt that he was lost, and had not even got the courage to beg for mercy.  “You deserve death, you miscreant,” Sarema continued.  “You are in my hands, and I can do whatever I please with you, for the pasha has left your punishment to me alone.  I ought to have you impaled, and to feast my eyes on your death agonies.  That would be the smallest compensation for all the years of degradation that I have been through, and which I owe to you.”  “Mercy, Viteska!  Mercy!” the wretched man cried, trembling all over, and raising his hands to her in supplication.

The Odalisque’s only reply was a laugh, in which rang all the cruelty of an insulted woman’s deceived heart.  It seemed to give her pleasure to see the man whom she had loved, and who had so shamefully trafficked in her beauty, in his mortal agony, as he cringed before her, whining for his life, as he clung to her knees, but at last she seemed to relent somewhat.

“I will give your life, you miserable wretch,” she said, “but you shall not go unpunished.”  So saying, she clapped her hands, and four black eunuchs came in, and seized the favorite’s unfortunate husband and in a moment bound his hands and feet.

“I have altered my mind, and he shall not be put to death,” Sarema said, with a smile that made the traitor’s blood run cold in his veins; “but give him a hundred blows with the bastinade, and I will stand by and count them.”  “For God’s sake,” the merchant screamed, “I can never endure it.”  “We will see about that,” the favorite said, coldly, “and if you die under it, it was allotted you by fate; I am not going to retract my orders.”