Olaj Beg, with a reassuring look, tapped Apafi on the shoulder, and said with a voice full of unction:
"Fret not thyself, my dear son! In no case will it be earlier than to-morrow morning."
Apafi almost collapsed in his fright.
"To-morrow morning, do you say, my lord?"
"I promise thee she shall not be disturbed before."
Apafi perceived that the man had been making sport with him all along. Rage began to seethe in his heart.
"But, my lord, I said nothing about one day. One day is the period allowed to condemned criminals."
"Days and seasons come from Allah, and none may divide them."
"Damn you soft sawder!" murmured Apafi between his teeth. "My lord," he resumed, "would you carry away with you a sick woman whom only the most tender care can bring back from the shores of Death, and who, if she were now to set out for Buda, would never reach it, for she would die on the way?"
Olaj Beg piously raised his hands to Heaven.