May Allah soften your heart, that I may not be deprived of
my beloved father!" He listened attentively to this voice. It seemed
to him he had never heard sweeter music than the tender, tremulous
tones of this maiden pleading for her father. His gaze still fixed
upon her, he opened the casket and glanced indifferently at its
precious contents. For a moment a strange smile played about his
lips, and he then turned with a mocking, contemptuous expression of
countenance, and addressed the tschorbadji:
"Tschorbadji, can you really so poorly distinguish between genuine
gold and precious stones and a worthless imitation? These are
playthings for children. These are not, pearls, and this is not
gold. A well-planned swindle, truly. No Jew would give you two
sequins for these things, not to speak of a hundred."
"Swindle!" she cried, springing to her feet, and her voice as now
clear and threatening. "You accuse me of planning a swindle! You are
wrong, sir; and if there be any one here who cannot distinguish true
gold and pearls from a base imitation, you are he! The gold and
pearls are genuine, and were inherited by me from my mother, who was
the daughter of a rich jeweler in Stamboul. She bequeathed them to
me, and the casket has not been opened before since her death. And
you accuse me of attempting to defraud you! You act ungenerously."
"Dear sir, forgive her, forgive her bold words!" said the
tschorbadji, addressing in earnest tones the pacha, whose eager gaze
was still fixed on the maiden.
Pages:
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221