"And pay he shall!" cries Taher Pacha. "I will march with you into his stronghold. Woe to him; he has begun this work of slaughter, and must take the consequences!"
The gates are closed and barred. What care the soldiers, encouraged by their general's approach, for that?" The walls can be scaled!" No sooner said than done. Like cats, the first climb over the high wall, and the rest follow. The guards within are overpowered, and the gates are thrown open. And now all rush in intent on victory, and, above all, on obtaining money.
The viceroy's khaznadar advances to meet them with a body of soldiers. Taher Pacha calls on him to surrender. The coward obeys, and lays down his arms. Cousrouf sits quietly in his apartment, little dreaming of what has taken place.
"Let them fight on; in a short time these rebels and traitors will yield, and sue for mercy. I will have their heads severed from their bodies, and sent to Stamboul as trophies of victory!"
But what does this strange noise mean?
A volley resounds from beneath Cousrouf's windows.
A Nubian rushes into his apartment, and announces, in tones of dismay: "You are betrayed, the khaznadar has surrendered, and the rebels are storming the palace."
Cousrouf bounds from his seat, hurls from him his chibouque, and quickly girds on his sword.
"We will hurl them back. Let Mohammed Ali come with his troops. He will vanquish them and overthrow the traitor, Taher Pacha. Right royally shall Mohammed Ali be rewarded if he comes to my assistance; and come he will. He is at least no traitor, and will never make common cause with rebels. You, my Nubians, my body-guard, my brave followers, ascend to the battlement and turn the guns upon the rebels who surround us."
They obey his command, and their guns are soon thundering down into the ranks of the rebels.