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she’s traveling with her bridesmaid at night by the light of oil lamps and

torches—is　a　melancholy　Chinese　princess。”

“Or perhaps we only think the bride is Chinese now； because the

miniaturist； to emphasize her flawless beauty； whitened her face as the

Chinese　do　and　painted　her　with　slanted　eyes；”　said　Master　Osman。

“Whoever she might be； my heart aches for this sad beauty； traveling the

steppe　in　the　middle　of　the　night　acpanied　by　grim…faced　foreign　guards；

heading to a strange land and a husband she’s never seen；” I said。 Then I

immediately　added；　“How　shall　we　determine　who　our　miniaturist　is　from　the

clipped　nostrils　of　the　horse　she　rides？”

“Turn the pages of the album and tell me what you see；” said Master

Osman。

Just then； we were joined by the dwarf whom I’d seen sitting on the

chamber pot as I was running to bring the volume to Master Osman； the

three　of　us　looked　at　the　pages　together。

We saw strikingly beautiful Chinese maidens depicted in the style of our

melancholy　bride　gathered　together　in　a　garden　playing　a　peculiar…looking　lute。

We saw Chinese houses； morose…looking caravans heading out on long

journeys；　vistas　of　the　steppes　as　beautiful　as　old　memories。　We　saw　gnarled

trees rendered in the Chinese style； their spring blossoms in full bloom； and

nightingales　tipsy　with　elation　perched　on　their　branches。　We　saw　princes　in

the　Khorasan　style　seated　in　their　tents　holding　forth　on　poetry；　wine　and　love；

spectacular　gardens；　and　handsome　nobles；　with　magnificen