Even　so；　we　were　able　to　maintain　a　persistent　excitement　in　the　face　of　the

weariness and melancholy that descended upon us： A couple of times we

forgot　about　the　horse　and　lost　ourselves　to　the　beauty　of　a　picture；　to　colors

that forced a momentary surrender。 Master Osman always looked at the

pictures—most　of　which　he　himself　had　created；　supervised　or　ornamented—

more　out　of　nostalgic　enthusiasm　than　wonder。　“These　are　by　Kas？m　from　the

Kas？m Pasha district！” he said once； pointing out the little purple flowers at

the　base　of　the　red　war　tent　of　Our　Sultan’s　grandfather　Sultan　Süleyman。　“He

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was by no means a master； but for forty years he filled the dead space of

pictures with these five…leaf； single…blossom flowers； before he unexpectedly

died　two　years　ago。　I　always　assigned　him　to　draw　this　small　flower　because　he

could　do　it　better　than　anyone。”　He　fell　silent　for　a　moment；　then　exclaimed；

“It’s　a　pity；　a　pity！”　With　all　my　soul；　I　sensed　that　these　words　signified　the

end　of　an　era。

Darkness had nearly overtaken us； when a light flooded the room。 There

was a motion。 My heart； which had begun to beat like a drum；

prehended immediately： The Ruler of the World； His Excellency Our

Sultan　had　abruptly　entered。　I　threw　myself　at　His　feet。　I　kissed　the　hem