Every faithful Mussulman, therefore, guards his footsteps from any
intrusion into the Etmeidan, as being in duty bound to know and observe
that text of the Koran which says, "A fool is he who plunges into peril
that he might avoid."
The tattoo had already been beaten with wooden sticks on a wooden board,
when two men encountered each other in one of the streets leading into
the Etmeidan.
One of them was a stranger, dressed in a Wallachian _gunya_, long shoes,
and with a broad reticule dangling at his side. He looked forty years
old and, so far as it was possible to distinguish his figure and
features in the twilight, seemed to be a strong, well-built man, with a
tolerably plump face, on which at that moment no small traces of fear
could be detected and something of that uncomfortable hesitation which
is apt to overtake a man in a large foreign city which he visits for the
very first time.
The other was an honest Mussulman about thirty years old, with a thick,
coal-black beard and passionate, irritable features, whose true
character was very fairly reflected in his pair of flashing black eyes.
His turban was drawn deep down over his temples, obliterating his
eyebrows completely, which made him look more truculent than ever.
The stranger seemed to be going towards the Etmeidan, the other man to
be coming from it. The former let the latter pass, by squeezing himself
against the wall, and only ventured to address him when he perceived
that he had no evil intentions towards him.
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