Allah knew that Yûsuf’s malady was not uncommon at his age; the cure self-evident. The governess was not a heathen. She was of those who have received the Scriptures, therefore marriageable. Moreover, being, as he shrewdly guessed, of no consideration in her native land, she might be tempted by a life of wealth and ease. To save his son from death, he had besought the Englishwoman, imagining that her consent would fill the house with joy-cries. Yet when the cause was won, the only possible objection cancelled by the girl’s unlooked-for turn to El Islâm, behold! the lady Fitnah’s grief was changed to fury. The wrangle with her had perturbed him at a moment when he stood in need of all his wits to brave the Consul. Well, Allah saw what trials he endured!
The carriage drew up in a quiet alley, before a gateway ornamented with a coloured picture of lions great and small in funny attitudes. Two Cawasses in silver-braided jackets with long dangling sleeves rose from stools beside the threshold and saluted. Muhammad Pasha passed between them, crossing a courtyard to a second door, wide open like the first. There, in a whitewashed room, two Copts sat at a table, cutting pens. They both sprang up at recognition of the visitor and strove to kiss his hands, which he prevented by patting each upon the shoulder kindly.
“Is the Consul busy, O my children?” he inquired. “I have an errand of importance. Please inform him.”
“Upon my head. I go at once, by Allah!”
One of the Copts leapt to an inner door and knocked thereon. Enjoined to enter, he opened it just far enough for the introduction of his body, and slipped in. Anon returning in the same respectful manner, he beckoned to the Pasha. Then he flung the door wide open, and stood aside, with eyes downcast and hands demurely folded.
Muhammad Pasha entered with a beating heart. His mission was of essence delicate, and he was anxious to avoid all odour of offence towards a foreign representative possessing influence. Having touched hands with the Consul and exchanged greetings, he sat down on the extreme edge of a chair, and toying with his amber rosary, thus broached his business:—
“Monsieur le Consul,”—the conversation was in French of the Byzantine school,—“you remember the young lady whom you were good enough to recommend as an instructress for my children. Can you inform me of her origin, her previous history?”
“Excellency, I only know what she herself confided: that she was educated at a religious institution for poor children of good family. She has no relatives. She came here to be governess in an English house which, by the father’s sudden death, was brought to poverty two weeks before she came. She found herself here without a situation and with little money; and as she was well recommended and impressed me as respectable, I thought of you, remembering that you desired an English governess. I trust that you are satisfied of her efficiency?”
“Altogether. She has been a month now in our house, and almost is become like one of us. She is so charming. It is there, the trouble. She is ravishing. Monsieur le Consul,”—here the Pasha changed his tone for that of one who bares his heart, discarding courtesies,—“I am very gravely troubled. The anxiety I suffer cuts digestion and gives me frightful belly-pains. My son adores this demoiselle, and she adores him. The affair deprives me of all taste for food. You see my sufferings!”
“Continue, Excellency!” said the Consul grimly. He got up from his chair and paced the room. The Pasha kept the corner of an eye upon him, as he proceeded: