"It’s not my father’s death only," began Helena haltingly, whereupon the Princess said— "Yes, of course! I’ve heard all about it. He’s gone, and I suppose you know no more than anybody else what has become of him. No?" "No!" "Ah, my dear, my moon, my beauty, all this wouldn’t have happened if you had taken my advice. When your Gourdan began to oppose his father you should have stopped him. Yes, you could have done it. Of course you could." "I couldn’t, Princess," said Helena. "What? You mean to say you tried to and you couldn’t? You couldn’t get him to give up that ridiculous holy man for a girl like ... Then God have mercy upon us, what are you moaning about? Who ever heard of such a thing? A young woman like you eating her heart out for the loss of a man who prefers ... well, upon my word!" The Princess put her smelling bottle to both nostrils in quick succession, and then said— "It’s true I thought him the best of the bunch. In fact I simply lost my heart to him. But if he had been the only man in the world ... Oh, I know! You think he _is_ the only one. I thought that myself when my first husband left me. It wasn’t a Mahdi in his case. Only a milliner, and I was ready to die of shame. But I didn’t. I just put some kohl on my eyes and looked round for another. It’s true my second wasn’t much of a man, but a donkey of your own is better than a horse of somebody else’s." Again the smelling bottle and then— "Listen to me, my dear. I’m a woman of experience at all events. Have a good cry and get him out of your head. Why not? He’s gone, isn’t he? He can never come back to the army, and his career as a soldier is at an end. The felled tree doesn’t bear any more dates, so what’s the good of him anyway? Oh, _I_ know! You needn’t tell _me_! Love is sweet in the suckling and bitter in the weaning, and you think you can’t do it, but you can. You are going back to England, I hear. So much the better! Far from the eyes, far from the heart, and quite right too. Get married as soon as possible and have some big bouncing babies. I haven’t had any myself certainly, but that’s different—I thought I wouldn’t repeat the crime of my mother, God forgive her!" Helena’s head was down; she was hardly listening. "Lose no time either, my sweet. Time is money, they say, and perhaps it is, though it has different prices on the Bourse, I notice. I’ve known days that would have been dear at two piastres and a few quarters of an hour that I wouldn’t have parted with for millions of money. Perhaps you’ve felt like that, my beauty. But perhaps you haven’t. You’re only a child yet, my chicken." "The man Ishmael has gone, hasn’t he?" asked Helena. "Yes, they’ve let him go, the stupids! Back to the Soudan—to Khartoum, they tell me." "Khartoum?"