"The infidel has fixed a brass plate to the right-hand post of the kiosk," the ancient reported, in bad humor. "It may be a curse." The Princess then called her attendants, and went with them to see the brass plate. There it was, an arm's reach overhead, and affixed firmly to the post, the corners turned down to serve the tacking. Graven on its polished surface was the following:
[Illustration]
Wholly unable to decipher it, she sent for a Dervish, long resident in the town, and returned to the portico.
"Princess," the old man said, having viewed the mysterious plate, "he who did the posting was a Turk; and if he were aged, I should say thou hast entertained unaware the great Amurath, Sultan of Sultans."
"But the man was young."
"Then was he the son of Amurath, Prince Mahommed."
The Princess turned pale.
"How canst thou speak so positively?" she asked.
"It is a teukra; in the whole world, O Princess, there are but two persons with authority to make use of it."
"And who are they?"