CHAPTER XXX

MINGLED JOY AND SORROW

Old Dicran lay on the bed where Takvor had left him, when on that moonless night nearly three weeks before he went out to search for Armenouhi. Vassinag was sitting on the divan by the window. Startled at the unexpected appearance of the dervishes, the old man raised himself and stared wildly at them.

“Don’t you know us, Dede? We have come home,” cried Armenouhi, starting toward him.

At the sound of her voice, he bounded from the bed, like one restored to life. He pulled the cloth from her head and gazed inquiringly into her face. The little, dark, ragged dervish was surely Armenouhi; and with his arm about her, he had her sit down by him, and tenderly caressed her, while Vassinag with a faint smile of recognition on her pale face, remained motionless on the divan.

Touched by her sister’s sadness, Armenouhi went to her, stooped to kiss her forehead, and returned to her grandfather, to whom she now related how she had been carried away.

“Dervishes who have come so far must be tired and hungry,” suggested the grandfather after he had gazed at her to his satisfaction, and he called to the servant to bring food.

“No, Dede, we are not tired,” declared Armenouhi. “We have driven most of the way.”

“Do dervishes drive?” he asked, smiling.

The sound of approaching wheels announced the arrival of the innkeeper, and Takvor explained how a friend had driven them from Brusa. The innkeeper’s horse was put in the stable. The good-natured Greek, who now joined them, brought much cheer; with Takvor he assisted the servant in preparing the food, and while eating, amusingly related the adventures of the way. The meal was over, and Armenouhi, again at her grandfather’s side, went on describing her experiences. She pictured the old house, the talkative Shareef, and the fat mother; and she grotesquely described the ancient eunuch Ali, and Takvor disguised as an old Turkish lady, seated by the ravine. Her story, frequently supplemented by the humorous remarks of the innkeeper and Takvor, excited mingled laughter and tears.

“Dede, do you know what it was that helped Takvor find me?”

“What was it, Armenouhi?”

“It was this, Dede;” and she took from her dress the little enameled pin. “And, Dede,” she continued, “you should be very glad that I came back, for I might have been the Padishah’s wife, and lived in the great palace.”

Again in her joy she shook her grandfather by the shoulders, and kissed him. “But I liked you best, Dede.”

Her story was ended. For a moment she sat in silence, while her gaze wandered about the room, first to Vassinag, then to Takvor, then to the innkeeper, and then back to her Dede. Suddenly her eyes became moist; the happy expression on her face turned to sadness, and her bosom heaved.

“Poor papa!” she murmured, and breaking into unrestrained sobbing, threw her arms about the old man’s neck, burying her face in his breast.