But while waiting in our Kiradjì’s yard, we were treated with far greater condescension by the womankind of his family. The yard itself was very unlike the stockaded prison-court of our earlier Bosnian experiences. Here, instead of the tall palisade which as a rule so effectively screens the members of the harem from the public gaze, was simply a low stone wall; and while we were contemplating the dwelling-house, built, like the yard wall, of the rough limestone of the country, and admiring the elegant ogival windows, out came an old Mahometan dame and two younger women—the mother, we conjectured, and two daughters of the house—and calmly took stock of us with faces unveiled, and without the slightest sign of bashfulness. They smiled, and we smiled, and though our stock of Bosniac was limited, we made ourselves intelligible to one another by means of the universal language of signs, and in this fashion carried on a very edifying conversation. As the old lady was particularly desirous of trying on our spectacles, we hastened to gratify her wishes; and as we were particularly anxious to see the carnelian and other rings of virtue that adorned their fair fingers, they obligingly held out their hands for our perusal. We were pleased to see the finger-nails of these would-be _Houris_ stained with rosy henna—a fond reminiscence of the wings, which, as every true-believer knows, Eve lost little by little when driven forth beyond the gate of Paradise. Here, at last, we have Darwin defeated on his own ground! Preposterous to suppose that these who still show traces of the rainbow plumes wherewith their first angelic fore-mother was wont to flutter—that these _Rhododactyls_—should be great granddaughters of hirsute gibberers! From the waistband of these dutiful daughters of Eve knives and keys were suspended by a short string, on which were strung a variety of quaint objects, which we were gracefully accorded permission to examine more closely. They proved to be a selection of large beads of antique fabric—some apparently Venetian, one certainly Roman; and intermixed with these were the vertebræ of some small animal—possibly worn as amulets. The clasp-knife itself, or _Britva_ as it is called, attached to this chatelaine, is an interesting feature of the national costume of Serbian women. These are sometimes of the most gorgeous workmanship, inlaid with gold and mother-of-pearl, and are alluded to in the popular poetry. Thus in the tragic poem entitled ‘The Stepsisters,’ which Sir John Bowring has translated, Paul arouses the jealousy of his wife by presenting his sister Jélitza with A knife, in silver hafted, And adorned with gold.