"Do not detain him here too long, highness. If he remains here longer than an hour, his soldiers will come up here after him in open revolt. Taher's troops have not gone to their barracks, and are only awaiting the signal to join them."
Cousrouf nodded his assent, and muttered to himself: "I was wrong in not treading this viper under foot in Cavalla; now it intends to bite me—I feel it, it intends to bite me; but it shall not. I will draw its fangs."
His Nubian slave now enters and announces to his master that the sarechsme, Mohammed Ali, stands without, awaiting his pleasure. Cousrouf's countenance quickly assumes a friendly expression.
"Leave me, defterdar, and await me in the next room. I shall not detain the sarechsme long."
The defterdar withdrew, and the Nubian slave opened the door to admit the general. With a military greeting, Mohammed Ali entered, and advanced toward the viceroy, who, on this occasion, received him standing, and not indolently reclining on his cushions, as was his habit; he even stepped forward to meet him, extending his hand, and saluting more cordially than usual.
"Sarechsme, when we last met, it was in anger. This I have deeply regretted, for you know what I think of you."
"Yes, highness, I know what you think of me," replied Mohammed, quietly.
The viceroy saw the derisive smile that played about his lips.
"I think well of you, Mohammed! I expect great things of you, and know that you are the truest and most devoted of my servants."
Mohammed looked up at him with a strange, inquiring glance. "Of your servants, highness? I did not know that I was one of them. I am devoted to you, as the general of the viceroy's troops should be, yet both of us are the servants of our master, the grand-sultan, at Stamboul."