"Armenouhi," he began, as gently as his guttural voice would allow.
    She seemed not to hear.
    "Armenouhi," he repeated, a little louder.
    Still there was no response; and thinking that perhaps it was not her name, he again looked into her face.
    "The little Armenian!" he mumbled half aloud.  "No other name could suit her better," and that he decided it should be.
    "Armenouhi," he repeated, "you are safe.  Nobody shall harm you.  You shall be the wife of the great Padishah, and live at Yildiz.  You shall have silk dresses and diamonds; and slaves and carriages; and go to Selamlik; and some day perhaps you may be the Valide Sultana.  You should be happy now, Armenouhi, for never again shall you live at Ak Hissar with dirty Armenians.  I will take you to Yildiz, to the Padishah."
    For just an instant Armenouhi piteously raised her eyes to the soldier's face; her lips moved as if she would speak, but no sound came.  The horrors she had witnessed that day had robbed her of her speech... (An Armenian Princess, Banks, 1914)