"Ah," grinned the negro, seeing light. "He is at breakfast."
"Then with permission, I will wait till he comes forth."
"What is this youth?" cried Daûd irritably, without looking.
"Bid him depart!" said Selîm, moving impatiently in his seat as though a fly annoyed him.
Of a sudden both the brothers rose and bowed profoundly, laying hand to breast, and lips, and brow, as a Muslim notable passed up the street on horseback. Then they sank down again, and the obsequious smile died away on their faces, leaving them cold and haughty as before.
"The great khawâjah is my very good friend. He loves me dearly," proffered Iskender in his own excuse. "By Allah, he is the nicest of men! He will be overjoyed to find me here this morning."
The scornful eyes of Daûd glanced on him for a brief moment, while Selîm, in his turn, questioned:
"Who is this?"
"Is it not the son of one Yâcûb, a muleteer, who sold his soul years ago to the English missionaries. It seems such renegades are well paid, for behold the raiment of this youth. What wouldst thou here, O dog, son of a dog?"
"I ask but to see my friend the Emîr, who loves me dearly—by Allah, I speak but the truth!" pleaded Iskender, near to tears.