Whilst he was in the service of the latter, he had carefully increased his wealth, and his wife, espoused by him before his apostacy, had never permitted him to give her a rival. By a double fate, his wife died about the same time his vizier was sent into exile in disgrace. Become free on both sides, the Armenian feared no longer to exhibit his gold and his amorous propensities, both of which he had concealed so well for thirty years. Although it was a little late, he determined to recommence his youth, to live for pleasure, and to organize a harem. Thus, at this moment, rubbing his hands, his figure inflamed, his small, red eyes glistening like carbuncles, he glided round the chamber, like a hungry fox around a poultry-yard. The beautiful young girls were enraged at the sight. In their dreams of love, each of them had doubtless seen in her happy possessor, a handsome young man, with a capacious brow, majestic carriage, and black and glistening beard; and the ex-treasurer of the vizier did not appear to have ever possessed any of these fortunate gifts of nature. Not being desirous of such a customer, instead of sweet smiles and their premeditated graceful postures, they assumed frowning and cross looks, when the old man stopped before Baïla, who at once trembled and was seized with an immoderate desire to cry. She was, however, forced to rise up, to walk about, and notwithstanding all the want of grace she could assume, the khashadar found her charming; he approached her, looked at her feet and hands, and examined her teeth, then taking the merchant aside, said, “Thy price?” “Twenty thousand piastres.” The khashadar made a bound backward; his lips puckered up like those of a baboon who has bitten a sharp citron; he recommenced walking around the room, examined all those beautiful fruits of Georgia and Circassia submitted to his inspection; he then stopped again before Baïla. She feigning to think that he wished to examine her mouth again, put out her tongue and made a face at him. This demonstration did not appear to cool his fire. He reapproached the merchant, and when they had bargained for some time, seated cross-legged, the latter rose, saying, “By the Angel Gabriel, I promised my wife, whose own sister she is, not to part with her for less than twenty thousand, for the honor of the family.” Baïla, who had drawn her veil around her figure, perceived that the bargain was concluded; and, unable to restrain herself, burst into sobs. The door of the room was at that moment opened roughly. A man of lofty stature and imperious look, walked straight up to the desolate girl; he raised her veil, that veil which, though it concealed her tears, could not drown her sobs. “How much for this slave?” he asked. “She is mine,” said the khashadar. “How much?” he repeats. “But I am her purchaser, and not her seller,” said the little old man, rising on his toes, so as to approximate his length toward that of the interlocutor.