The fruit is ripe and ready to fall; the time for action has come.
On the following morning, a body of soldiers marches out and surrounds the quarter of the city in which the Mameluke beys reside.
Bardissi and Ismail have both left the citadel, and now dwell in the city. There they can live more comfortably and conveniently than up in the citadel; and the Mameluke beys are in the habit of attaching more importance to their comfort than the rest of the world. The quarter in which they reside is completely surrounded by soldiers. They do not notice it, however; these grand gentlemen are taking their ease in their palaces.
Bardissi is in his harem. He has consoled himself for Sitta Nefysseh's cruelty and coldness; the beautiful Georgian and Circassian slaves that throng his harem well know how to make him forget the past with their songs and dances, their sweet words and soft looks.
There he lies on his cushions, gazing dreamily at their dancing.
Suddenly a shot is heard, then a second follows, and a ball strikes the wall of his house.
Bardissi bounds from his cushions, and the dance is at an end. He rushes out into the court-yard to learn the cause of the firing. The street and square are filled with soldiers, and on the opposite side of the square, in front of the arsenal, whole batteries are in position, as though a battle were to be fought.
"What does this mean? Who has led these troops against us? Are those not Albanians and Armenians?"
A loud, a fearful cry resounds from Bardissi's lips: "Those are Mohammed Ali's troops, and it is he who is leading them against us. It is he who has planned my destruction. Then let us also prepare for battle ourselves. They shall see that Bardissi is not so easily trapped. Let us defend ourselves in this house as in a fortress. Close all the doors and gates. Quick, ye soldiers, prepare for battle ! Ye cannoneers, do your duty!"
He calls to the cannoneers who stand by the guns crowning the wall that surrounds his house. But the cannoneers refuse to obey him.