“Nay, call us not harsh names, brave chieftain,” said Ibrahim, “seeing that we do not treat you unworthily.”
“I was wrong!” cried the prisoner; then, fixing his fine blue eyes upon the renegade, he added, “Were you not habited as a Moslem, I should conceive, by the purity with which you speak my native language, that you were a Christian, and an Italian.”
“I can speak many languages with equal fluency,” said Ibrahim, evasively, as a pang shot through his heart. “But tell me thy name, Christian—for thou art a brave man, although so young.”
“In my own country,” answered the youth, proudly, “I am called the Count of Riverola.”
We have before stated that Ibrahim was the complete master of his emotions: but it required all his powers of self-possession to subdue them now, when the name of that family into which he was well aware his sister had entered fell upon his ears. His suspicion was well founded; he had indeed seen Francisco before this day—had seen him when he was a mere boy, in Florence, for Alessandro was three or four years older than the young count. But he had never, in his native land, exchanged a word with Francisco; he had merely, occasionally, seen him in public; and it was quite evident that even if Francisco had ever noticed him at that time, he did not recollect him now. Neither did Ibrahim wish the young count to ascertain who he was; for the only thing which the renegade ever feared was the encounter of any one who had known him as a Christian, and who might justly reproach him for that apostasy which had led him to profess Mohammedanism.
“Lord Count of Riverola,” said Ibrahim, after a short pause, “you shall be treated in a manner becoming your rank and your bravery. Such, indeed, was the command of my imperial master, the most glorious sultan; but even had no such order been issued, my admiration of your gallant deportment in this day’s strife would lead to the same result.”
“My best thanks are due for these assurances,” returned Francisco. “But tell me how fares the war without?”
“The grand master has proffered a capitulation, which has been accepted,” answered Ibrahim.
“A capitulation!” exclaimed Francisco. “Oh! it were better to die in defense of the cross, than live to behold the crescent triumphant on the walls of Rhodes!”
“The motive of the grand master was a humane one,” observed Ibrahim; “he has agreed to capitulate, to put an end to the terrific slaughter that is going on.”