“All lies from beginning to end.”
“And were you never a barber?”
“Never in my life.”
“Then why did you make such long apostrophes to the dead Cerise, when you observed that the pacha was impatient?”
“Merely because I was at fault, vizier, and wished to gain time, to consider what I should say next.”
“Selim,” replied Mustapha, “you have great talent; but mind that your next voyage is more wonderful; I presume it will make no difference to you.”
“None whatever; but the pacha is not a man of taste. Now give me my five pieces, and I’ll be off: I’m choked with thirst, and shall not be comfortable till I have drunk at least a gallon of wine.”
“Holy Prophet! what a Turk!” exclaimed the vizier; lifting up his hands. “Here is your money, kafir;—don’t forget to be here to-morrow.”
“Never fear me, vizier; your slave lives but to obey you, we Turks say.”
“We Turks!” muttered the vizier, as he cast his eyes upon the retiring figure of the renegade. “Well of all the scoundrels—”