“In youth, when the eyes of houris shone brightly into mine, Sherif el Habib was as a brother.”
“He is in the desert seeking the Mahdi.”
“Dost thou mean it?”
“Even so. Is it not so, Max?”
Max was unable to answer, for Mohammed clapped his hands, and all his followers prostrated themselves on the sand, bowing their heads toward the direction of the sacred shrine at Mecca.
“I, too, dust as I am, yet of the family of the faithful, will seek the Mahdi, for he it is who will raise the crescent above the cross and make the kingdom of the prophet co-equal with the kingdoms of the world.”
The man Mohammed was evidently in a state of great mental exaltation, and like Sherif el Habib, believed that the promised savior or leader of the Moslems had come, and was awaiting an opportunity to crush the Christian nations and proclaim the rule of Mahomet.
Max was enchanted.
He liked enthusiasts.
He worshiped heroes.