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"Ah! let us go into Kasre-El-Nouzha!" said my aunt. At this I glanced at my uncle with an air of distress; he, without wincing in the least, said: "The communicating door is walled up. Kasre-El-Nouzha is let." "Let!" she exclaimed; "To whom?" "To an important personage, Mohammed-Azis, a friend of mine from Constantinople. You do not know him."
I have invented a story of important botanical studies upon the flora of Provence, in order to justify certain daily excursions which naturally terminate in El-Nouzha. It is well-known, moreover, that I sometimes visit His Excellency Mohammed-Azis, but with the discretion which respect for a great misfortune naturally entails.
My uncle told me that this was His Excellency, Mohammed-Azis, one of his friends at Constantinople, whom he had taken in with his family after they had undergone persecution at the hands of the Sultan. He lodged him in another little château adjoining Férouzat, in order that they might be able to live more comfortably in Turkish style: those young persons were two of his daughters.
He sent word that he was at my disposition and waiting for me. I therefore set off at once to call upon him. I found Mohammed-Azis on his door-step. Gravely and sadly he received me with a salute, the respectful manner of which embarrassed me somewhat, coming from a man of his age.
From this door a sort of labyrinth leads to the Kasre by a single narrow alley, which one might take for a disused path. When I reached the last turn in this alley which terminates in the open gardens, I perceived under the verandah Mohammed-Azis, who seemed to be watching me he ran towards me with an eager and delighted appearance, and salem aleks without end.
Ought I to maintain the dignified bearing of a vizir, or abandon myself to the tender attitudes of a lover? In my perplexities I was almost tempted to send for Mohammed-Azis, to request of him a few lessons in deportment as practised by the Perfect Pasha of the Bosphorus; but perhaps he would disturb my happiness?
So off we started in the carriage, down the great drive of the château; I thinking that we were going to the doctor's, or else to the Camboulions. When we arrived at the gate, Bernard asked from his box for his orders. "To El-Nouzha," said my aunt. "What!" I exclaimed, "to Mohammed-Azis?" "Yes," she replied; "His Excellency's name will look very nice on our list.
I added, not without a certain embarrassment " and it is your death again that has been the cause of it!" "How was that? Tell me all about it." "You know, your Turkish pavilion Kasre-el-Nouzha?" "I know, well?" "Well, four months ago, Mohammed-Azis arrived there." "Hullo!" he said, "Mohammed?" "Yes, and you had entrusted him with a a commission," I continued.
The gate was shut, as it always is. The footman got down and rang, but no one answered the bell. "His Excellency Mohammed-Azis is at home, is he not?" shouted my aunt. "Tell him that Monsieur André de Peyrade has called to see him." Recognising me in the carriage, Cerberus hesitated. He was actually going to open the gate to let the carriage pass through.
In the eyes of the whole neighbourhood, nay, even of my own household, Mohammed-Azis is an exile, a person of high political rank, to whom my uncle had given a hospitable retreat. Barbassou-Pasha always addressed him respectfully as "Your Excellency," nor did any servant in the château speak in different terms of him.
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