To get to the uplands, so to speak, over which, north of Galata, the road to Hissar stretched, Corti was conducted past the Cynegion and through the districts of Eyoub to the Sweet Waters of Europe, which he crossed by a bridge below the site of the present neglected country palace of the Sultan. Up on the heights he turned left of Pera, and after half an hour's rapid movement was trending northward parallel with the Bosphorus, reaches of which were occasionally visible through cleftings of the mountainous shore. Straw-thatched farmhouses dotted the hills and slopes, and the harvest spread right and left in cheerful prospect.
The adventurer had ample time to think; but did little of it, being too full of self-gratulation at having before him an opportunity to recommend himself to the Emperor, with a possibility of earning distinction creditable in the opinion of the Princess Irene.
At length an exclamation of his guide aroused him to action.
"The Turks, the Turks!"
"Where?"
"See that smoke."
Over a hilltop in his front, the Count beheld the sign of alarm crawling slowly into the sky.
"Here is a village—to our left, but"—
"Have done," said Corti, "and get me to the fire. Is there a nearer way than this?"
"Yes, under the hill yonder."