"Such is not my intention. All I will do"—and his anger suddenly flared up at the perfectly unassumed insolence of the man—"all I will do is to forbid my men to shoot you down in cold blood. You will be wise to consider that, for we may not care to grant such terms, no, nor yet be able to enforce obedience to them if we did, on the day when Tripoli is crushed like a beetle below our heel."
Ali shrugged his shoulders and took his chibouk from the hands of the page who carried it.
"Oblige me with a piece of charcoal," he said to one of the Greeks who stood by, and he lit his pipe slowly and deliberately before replying.
"Your terms are preposterous," he said; "I do not, however, say that I will not accept them, but I wish for five hours more for consideration."
"Five hours more for relief from Tripoli, in my poor judgment," remarked Petrobey. "I am afraid that will not be convenient to me. I require 'yes' or 'no'; neither more nor less."
Ali inhaled two long breaths of smoke.
"If I will give neither 'yes' nor 'no,' what then?"
"This. You shall go back in safety, and then when you are starved out, or when we take the place, I will not grant any terms. And we have a long score against you. Your rule has not been popular among my countrymen; those who have lived here under you are full of very pretty tales."
"I suppose the dogs are. I accept your terms."
Petrobey rose.