“Kussi ast?” “Anyone here?” A door on our right opened and the old Hakim, Abdul Wahid, appeared, and raising a curtain ushered us into the room. The usual charcoal brazier stood in the middle of the carpet, curtains hung by the windows and over the doors. The curtain over a doorway, at the far side of the room, was slightly pulled back, and, though we could see no one, it was here I heard that the ladies were concealed. Seated by the side of the brazier was a fair young woman with a baby on her knee. These were the little Prince and his nurse. There were two older women, also nurses, seated by the fire. None of the women were veiled, but each had a cashmere shawl over her head, which she pulled slightly across the lower part of the face. All rose as we entered. [Sidenote: Vaccination of Prince Mahomed Omer.] The Prince was a bright-eyed healthy-looking little fellow, with a skin slightly darker than that of an English baby. He was very much swaddled-up in clothes. Over his head was thrown a square of white cashmere, which was held back from the face and kept in position by a band round the head. A chair and a little table were placed for me, and the inevitable tea was brought. The Hakim and nurses sat on the ground again. The Armenian remained standing. Presently, I said to the Armenian, “I am quite ready now to vaccinate the Prince.” It was broad daylight by this time, and I had my lancet and vaccine lymph with me. The Armenian spoke to the Hakim Abdul Wahid, and he directed the nurse to undress the child sufficiently to expose the upper arm. The nurse commenced to unfasten the innumerable strings and bandages in which the Prince was bound up. As this operation needed both her hands, of course it was not her fault that the shawl fell back from her face. She was really a very pretty girl. She had a little crimson jacket, a long white camise reaching to the knee, loose oriental trousers, and a little gold-embroidered cap, like a polo cap, put coquettishly on one side: the embroidered cashmere shawl draped from the head over the shoulders. As she sat with the child on her knee and the early sun shining on them, it struck me what a picture they would make for the Madonna and Child. The two old ladies were not so smartly dressed. They had dark-grey shawls and a sort of hood on the head. They looked like nuns and acted as a “foil” to the nurse. When the little Prince’s arms were free, he waved them about and crowed joyously. As he lay on the nurse’s lap I was obliged to sit on the ground to vaccinate him. The operation did not take many seconds. He looked somewhat astonished when he felt the first prick of the lancet: possibly it was the first sensation of pain he had ever experienced, and he gave a little whimper before I had quite finished. Then his arm was bound up and he was dressed again.