The Grand Chamberlain received him with the usual prostration, and in that posture waited his pleasure.
"Bring me water. I am thirsty."
The water was brought.
"The Prince of India now."
Presently the Prince appeared in the costume peculiar to him—a cap and gown of black velvet, loose trousers, and slippers. His hair and beard were longer than when we knew him a denizen of Constantinople, making his figure seem more spare and old; otherwise he was unchanged. He too prostrated himself; yet as he sank upon his knees, he gave the Sultan a quick glance, intended doubtless to discover his temper more than his purpose.
"You may retire."
This to the Chamberlain.
Upon the disappearance of the official, Mahommed addressed the Prince, his countenance flushed, his eyes actually sparkling.
"God is great. All things are possible to him. Who shall say no when he says yes? Who resist when he bids strike? Salute me, and rejoice with me, O Prince. He is on my side. It was he who spoke in the thunder of my guns. Salute me, and rejoice. Constantinople is mine! The towers which have outlasted the ages, the walls which have mocked so many conquerors—behold them tottering to their fall! I will make dust of them. The city which has been a stumbling-block to the true faith shall be converted in a night. Of the churches I will make mosques. Salute me and rejoice! How may a soul contain itself knowing God has chosen it for such mighty things? Rise, O Prince and rejoice with me!"
He caught up the sword of Solomon, and in a kind of ecstasy strode about flourishing it.