"Hassan," said the viceroy, looking at him earnestly, "I do not listen to calumny, and, whatever I hear, I do not believe it unless I recognize it as truth. You will be often calumniated, my friend; that I well know. But this I promise you: whatever evil is said of you I will repeat to you, to enable you to justify yourself, and then woe to those who have the temerity to calumniate you!"
The viceroy has shown the beautiful apartments of the citadel to his friend Hassan, but the apartments in the palace of the Esbekieh he shows to no one; through them he wanders alone. The saloons and chambers are not yet finished; he carefully observes them as he walks along, noting whether his instructions are being complied with. Now he has entered the immense saloon, situated at the end of the apartments of the harem. He locks the door behind him; here no one must see him; to this sanctuary no human eye must follow him.
At the entrance he stands still and looks around. A wondrous change has come over him. He smiles, and his countenance is still more radiant than when he spoke with Hassan of his sons. His eyes sparkle like those of a youth who beholds again the countenance of his beloved.
The saloon is curiously furnished. Nothing splendid, nothing beautiful is to be seen. Simple mats cover the floor, such mats, woven of long straw by the fellahs, as adorn the harems of the poorer class of people in Cairo. There are no divans, but only low cushions covered with plain woolen cloth, no costly hangings, no mirrors on the walls; they are hung with gray linen, as though they were the sides of a gigantic tent, and in the middle of this immense space there really stands a tent—a large one made of white cloth, patched with colored rags of every description, such a tent as the Bedouin chiefs of the desert dwell in.
Any one entering this immense space, after passing through the glittering apartments of the harem, would have been strangely and mysteriously affected by its appearance.
But Mohammed is not so affected. He steps in noiselessly, as if fearing to disturb the repose of some one.
Is any one reposing there?
Not yet; but the time, it is to be hoped, will soon come when this tent shall no longer be unoccupied as now.
Mohammed steps forward, draws back the curtain, and enters the first apartment of the tent.
How plain it is, how desolate and bare! On the mat in the corner, however, lie cushions, and spread over them a shawl adorned with tassels, the cover for the person who is to sleep there; there stands also a stool, and on it lies a tray, which contains various articles of table-ware, such as dishes, plates, and pitchers. `