Two dark-skinned girls in coarse blue linen clothes came forward with alacrity, evidently much pleased at being chosen for the office. They were ordinary slave-girls of fourteen or fifteen years, who would be sold for house-work, and had no pretensions to good looks. Their tightly plaited black hair was compressed into the smallest possible space at the backs of their heads, and they wore small red caps, coarsely embroidered, but neat and fresh. Their faces were much alike though they were not sisters. Zoë saw instantly that they were children of slaves of nondescript breed with a small admixture of African blood, of the race that swarmed in Constantinople. 'Go to bed, I say!' cried the negress to the others, seeing that some of them were inclined to linger. 'Be off!' They saw her hand move towards the whip in her girdle and they ran for the door, crowding on each other like sheep at the gate when the dogs drive them into the fold. Having produced this desired result, the negress turned to Zoë again, and her manner suddenly became caressing and almost fawning. 'You are mistress here, Kokóna,' she said. 'These two girls shall wait on you while our humble roof is honoured by your presence. If you have the slightest cause of discontent with their service, only tell me, and they shall be taught their duty.' Again her hand went significantly to her girdle, and she rolled her terrible eyes. The two maids shrank visibly at a threat of which they had already felt the meaning. Zoë was not so dull as to misunderstand the negress's manner. The favourite slave of some high and mighty personage, of the Emperor himself, perhaps, would have power, if only for a time, and the wife of Karaboghazji lost no time in making a bid for such patronage. 'I am a slave, as these girls are,' Zoë answered, laying a kindly hand on the shoulder of the one nearest to her. Both maids gazed up into her face with a sort of wondering gratitude. 'I am here to be sold, just as you are,' Zoë added, returning their look. The negress laughed loudly, for she was evidently in a good humour. 'Also the noble peacock and the sparrow are both birds, though the feathers are different!' she cried. 'But the Kokóna is hungry and cold,' she continued, in a tone of servile anxiety for Zoë's comfort. 'Will she not perhaps take a bath and change her clothes before supper? Everything is ready.' 'I have supped,' answered Zoë, who had eaten a piece of black bread, 'but as for clothes, I should like to put on the cloak again, for I feel cold.' She had hardly spoken before the two maids had wrapped her in the warm mantle. 'Thank you,' she said to them, and she turned to the negress. 'You seem to be mistress here. May I go to bed now?' 'Yes, I am the mistress,' answered the African woman, all her teeth gleaming in the lamplight. 'I am Rustan Karaboghazji's wife, Kokóna.' Zoë could not repress a movement of surprise. The negress laughed.