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At first, evidently, his official mind suspected that I was playing with his nerves, idly boasting of what no one would seriously attempt. When convinced, however, that I really meant what I said, he banged his fist on the table and just shouted:

“By Jove, if you belonged to me, you should not go.”

How I hoped he had lost his temper! But no, in another moment he was again all quiet concern, courteously persuasive.

“But,” said I, “I have reached here against long odds. I have come entirely on my own responsibility, and at my own expense. The Turks who met me here will take care of me, not my family nor my Government. Even war will not stop me.”

“And when there is war,” he replied, with a note of almost despairing entreaty, “for as there is a God above, it will come this time. Think of it! A woman absolutely alone among the Turks; not a European to help her. Six months, at least, in a concentration camp, illness, perhaps torture. God knows what will happen to you!”

“I shall not be put into a concentration camp, for there will be no war. I am going to stop it!”