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His countenance is pale, and his lips are firmly compressed, as if to keep back a cry of rage that struggles for utterance. Who is this man? Can it be Cousrouf Pacha? Yes, it is he, the viceroy, the prisoner given to Mohammed Ali by Bardissi. In his magnanimity Mohammed had grasped Bardissi's arm, uplifted for the deadly stroke, and had thus saved his enemy's life.
Close all the doors and gates. Quick, ye soldiers, prepare for battle ! Ye cannoneers, do your duty!" He calls to the cannoneers who stand by the guns crowning the wall that surrounds his house. But the cannoneers refuse to obey him. Another loud cry escapes Bardissi's lips.
But while she prays, the blood of the Mamelukes is flowing in streams, saturating the costly carpets in the boats, and beginning to color the surrounding water. A cry of rage resounds from Bardissi's lips. His friend Osman Tamboudji has just been stretched out at his feet by a ball.
The vestibule of the palace is already crowded with soldiers, and new masses are continually pouring into the court-yard. In reply to Bardissi's question, they all cry loudly: "We have come for our pay! We want money! We are hungry! We want our pay, our money!" "Go back to your quarters, and remain there, quietly!" cries Bardissi. "In two days you shall have your pay. Go!"
O Taher Pacha, you think yourself entitled to the throne because you have scaled the walls of the citadel; you are, however, grievously mistaken." After three days the messenger reached the bardissi's camp, and delivered Mohammed's message. Osman Bardissi shouted with delight. "The sarechsme keeps his word, and is about to unite with us.
The only response to their representations is, "We cannot, we will not pay more!" The vast hall of the mosque resounds with their lamentations and cries of rage. Suddenly Mohammed Ali, followed by a few of his soldiers, appears on the threshold. In a loud voice he begs the people to disperse; in Bardissi's name he promises that the collection of the new tax shall not be enforced.
Bardissi's officials flew from house to house, levying a contribution of five hundred sequins from each Frank and Levantine. Their demands were met everywhere with violent opposition, and caused general dismay. All the consuls repaired to the citadel, to Bardissi, to protest, in the names of their respective countries, against this unexpected outrage.
Herein your kachef Youssouf promises my soldier, Sadok Aga, to give him his whole pay, and even double the amount, if he will undertake to ride to Bardissi's camp and convey a letter to the bey. Here it is in his own handwriting, and signed by him." "Highness, I beg you to let me see the writing," said Nefysseh, extending her hand to take the paper. "Let me see it; I can read."
"Now you speak of death, Youssouf. No, you shall not die! No, thoughts of death overtake us soon enough! Listen: I wish you to mount your horse and ride to Osman Bey Bardissi's camp." "Now, mistress! No, do not require this of me! " cried he, anxiously. "You are aware an unknown friend has warned us, and said that Sitta should hide her treasure, as danger threatened her.
How dare you force your way into the palace of the chief?" A smile lights up Bardissi's countenance. This is his friend Mohammed Ali. He will extricate him from his embarrassing position. Yes, it is he, the sarechsme, at whose approach the men respectfully fall back and make room. He enters the palace and hastens to Bardissi. "Oh, forgive me! I knew not that my soldiers had dared to come here.
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