"Is it, then, really true? The whole house is filled with dismay and regret. Is it true that you intend leaving us tomorrow?"
"Perhaps," replied the pacha, composedly, rising slowly from his cushions to quiet the governor, with haughty condescension.
"So soon? Then it is indeed true? We had heard so, but we could not and would not believe it. We love you so dearly that we shall unwillingly see you depart. Even my son, my poor sick Osman, who cannot walk up a stairway because of his weakness, has requested that he may be permitted to come in person to take leave of you, and to beg that you will remember and be gracious to him in the future also. Will your excellency permit his servants to bring him in?"
Cousrouf Pacha made no reply, but arose, walked hastily to the door, opened it himself, and stepped out to Osman, who lay on the couch, beside which stood the slaves who had brought him up.
"Osman, I thank you for this proof of your friendly consideration.—
Take hold now, ye dogs, and bear your master into the room!"
He walked beside the couch while the slaves bore it into the room, and deposited it, at his command, beside his own cushions.
"Now come, too, tschorbadji, and seat yourself at our side, and let us smoke the chibouque together for the last time."
"The pipe of peace, Cousrouf Pacha, as the savages do when seated together for the last time in their wigwam," said Osman, smiling.
The pacha cast a searching glance at him.
"Tschorbadji, you have a very learned son. I know nothing of such things, have never heard of them. Who smoke the pipe of peace?"