Mahommed, in armor, was standing by a table on which were a bare cimeter, a lamp brightly burning, and two large unrolled maps. In one of the latter, the Count recognized Constantinople and its environs cast together from his own surveys.
Retired a few steps were the two Viziers, Kalil Pacha and his rival, Saganos Pacha, the Mollah Kourani, and the Sheik Akschem-sed-din. The preaching of the Mollah had powerfully contributed to arousing the fanatical spirit of the Sultan's Mohammedan subjects. The four were standing in the attitude usual to Turkish officials in presence of a superior, their heads bowed, their hands upon their stomachs. In speaking, if they raised their eyes from the floor it was to shoot a furtive glance, then drop them again.
"This is the grand design of the work by which you will be governed," Mahommed said to the counsellors, laying the finger points of his right hand upon the map unknown to the Count, and speaking earnestly. "You will take it, and make copies tonight; for if the stars fail not, I will send the masons and their workmen to the other shore in the morning."
The advisers saluted—it would be difficult to say which of them with the greatest unction.
Looking sharply at Kalil, the master asked: "You say you superintended the running of the lines in person?"
Kalil saluted separately, and returned: "My Lord may depend upon the survey."
"Very well. I wait now only the indication of Heaven that the time is ripe for the movement. Is the Prince of India coming?"
"I am here, my Lord."
Mahommed turned as the Prince spoke, and let his eyes rest a moment upon Count Corti, without a sign of recognition.
"Come forward, Prince," he said. "What is the message you bring me?"