"We demand our pay! We want bread, we want money!" This was the soldiers' cry. Now, surrounded by his bim bashis and boulouk bashis, the sarechsme entered the apartment of the viceroy, Cousrouf Pacha, who was awaiting him. In utter disregard of deference and usage, the general did not wait to be addressed by the viceroy. With a military greeting, he stepped forward and said, in a loud voice:
"As you hear, highness, your troops have come to demand of you that to which they have assuredly long been entitled—they have come to demand their pay!"
"I see," said Cousrouf, in low tones, casting a furtive glance of hatred at Mohammed—"I see that you are still the insolent boy of Cavalla!"
"I believe," replied Mohammed, also speaking in subdued tones—" I believe we are both what we then were; and I shall prove it to you!"
He stepped back. No one had heard the brief conversation that passed between them, but every one saw Cousrouf's cheek grow pale, and his eye sparkle with anger.
"I will send you an answer," said he, after a pause. "Return to your house, and order the soldiers to return to their barracks. My defterdar will bring you an answer."
He turned and left the apartment.
"Well, for this time we will be patient and wait," said Mohammed, addressing his officers.
His voice was threatening, and his officers understood that their general was prepared to resort to extreme measures, and they rejoiced over it, for the viceroy was always haughty and overbearing in his manner toward them, and they all hated him. They would all have been pleased to see their bold general revolt against him.
"We will wait," they whispered to each other—" we will wait! What our sarechsme does, we will do also!"