Bardissi, who has again fallen back exhausted, looks up in astonishment at the stranger who protected him, and was even angry with his own soldiers on his account. How comes it that this traitor's heart is touched?
Mohammed kneels down beside him.
"What is your name?" asks he, in low tones.
"Osman Bey Bardissi," replied the wounded man, and now, exhausted as he was from loss of blood, a proud smile flittered over his handsome countenance. "Not knowing me, you must be a stranger in Egypt," added he.
"Yes, I am a stranger in Egypt, and this accounts for my not knowing you. Yet, it seems to me that we once met; were you not once on the shores of the bay of Sta. Marmora?"
"Yes, I was once there!"
"Do you recollect meeting a boy there? You spoke to him of your proud future."
"I remember," murmured the bey.
"And you spoke proud, contemptuous words to this boy. Do you still remember his name?"
"I do; he was called Mohammed Ali, and I told him my name, Osman
Bey. Were you the boy?"