having seen her only once? Then, too, all men must be alike! It was not
so at all! Why! Mehmet Ali was not at all like Stan. And he offered a
hundred pieces of gold. No. Stan was of the kind who think all women are
alike. That was it. All her people were thinking all women were alike.
That was it. Surely all the men in the tribe were alike in that. All her
father had ever been to her, his kindness, his love was wiped away when
he said those few words. The last few words of Mehmet Ali, "Not to me,"
were the sweetest music she had ever heard.

Marcu waited until it was dark enough for the Tartar not to see, when
pressing significantly his daughter's foot, he said:

"So be it as you said. Row us across."

"It is not one minute too soon," Mehmet answered. "Only a short distance
from here, where the river splits in three forks, is a great rock. Shake
hands. Here. Now here is one oar. Pull as I count, _Bir, icki, outch,
dort_. Again, _Bir, icki, outch, dort_. Lift your oar. Pull again.
Two counts only. _Bir, icki._ So, now we row nearer to the shore. See
that light there? Row towards it. Good. Marcu, your arm is still strong
and steady and you can drive a good bargain."

Again and again the gipsy pressed the foot of his daughter as he bent
over the oar. She should know of course that he never intended to keep
his end of the bargain. He gave in only when he saw that the Tartar
meant to wreck them all on the rocks ahead of them. Why had he, old and
experienced as he was, having dealt with those devils of Tartars for so
many years, not known better than to return to the boat after he had
heard Mehmet say, "It is not fair!" And after he had reflected on the
Tartar's words, why, after he had refused to buy all the silks and