"I will carry her alone, and do thou just open the door," answered I. I drew my arm carefully from under the head of the sleeping girl, and laid her on the sofa. Then I took her carefully in my arms. I was still a youth, but I came of uncommonly strong stock; the child was small, frail, and I carried her like a feather. Selim opened the door to the adjoining chamber, which was lighted, and in that way we reached the green chamber, which I had destined to be Hania's room. The bed was already prepared. In the chimney a good fire was crackling; and near the chimney, poking the coals, sat old Vengrosia, who, when she saw me burdened as I was, exclaimed,-- "Ah, for God's sake! and so the Panich is carrying the little maid. Wasn't it possible to wake her, and let her come herself?" "Let Vengrosia be silent!" said I, angrily. "A young lady, not 'a maid,' only a young lady; does Vengrosia hear? The young lady is tired. I beg not to wake her. Undress her and put her to bed quietly. Let Vengrosia remember that this is an orphan, and that we must comfort her with kindness for the loss of her grandfather." "An orphan, the poor little thing; an orphan, indeed," repeated the honest Vengrosia, with emotion. Selim kissed the old woman for this, then he returned for tea. Selim forgot everything and became frolicsome at tea; I did not follow his example, however, first, because I was sad, and second, I judged that it did not become a serious man, already a guardian, to appear like a child. That evening Selim raised another storm; this time with Father Ludvik, because when we were at evening prayers in the chapel, he flew out to the yard, climbed onto the low roof of the ice-house, and began to howl. The dogs of the yard rushed together from all sides and made such an uproar while accompanying Selim that we could not say our prayers. "Have you gone mad, Selim?" asked Father Ludvik. "Pardon me, Father, I was praying in Mohammedan fashion." "Do not make sport of any religion, thou rascal!" "But if I, begging your attention, want to become a Catholic, only I am afraid of my father, what can I do with Mohammed?" The priest, attacked on his weak side, was silent, and we went to bed. Selim and I had a room together, for the priest knew that we liked to talk, and did not wish to hinder us. When I had undressed and saw that Selim was doing the same without praying, I inquired,-- "But really, Selim, dost thou never pray?" "Of course I do. If thou wish, I will begin right away." And standing in the window he raised his eyes to the moon, stretched his hands toward it, and began to cry in a singing voice,-- "Oh, Allah! Akbar Allah! Allah Kerim!" Dressed only in white, with his face raised toward the sky, he was so beautiful that I could not take my eyes from him. Then he began to explain,--