"Most gracious sir," said Maurocordato, turning towards the Grand Vizier, "the poor Magyar gentlemen have been waiting at thy threshold since dawn."
The Grand Vizier gazed venomously at the interpreter, protruding his head more than ever.
"Let them wait! It is more becoming that they should wait for us than we for them."
And with that he beckoned to the chief of the cavasses to admit the petitioners.
The refugees were twelve in number, and the chief cavasse, drawing aside the curtains from the door of an adjoining room, at once admitted them. Foremost among them was Paul Béldi, the others entered with anxious faces and unsteady, hesitating footsteps; he alone was brave, noble, and dignified. His gentle, large blue eyes ran over the faces of those present, and his appearance excited general sympathy.
Only the Grand Vizier regarded him with a look of truculent indifference—it was his usual expression, and he knew no other.
"Fear not!—open your hearts freely!" signified the Grand Vizier.
Béldi stepped forward, and bowed before the Grand Vizier. One of the Hungarians approached still nearer to the Vizier and kissed his hand; the others were prevented from doing the same by the intervention of Maurocordato, who at the same time beckoned to Béldi to speak without delay.
"Your Excellencies!" began Béldi, "our sad fate is already well-known to you, as fugitives from our native land we come to you, as beggars we stand before you; but not as fugitives, not as beggars do we petition you at this moment, but as patriots. We have quitted our country not as traitors, not as rebels, but because we would save it. The Prince is rushing headlong into destruction, carrying the country along with him. His chief counsellor lures him on with the promise of the crown of Hungary in the hope that he himself will become the Palatine. Your excellencies are aware what would be the fate of Hungary after such a war. A number of the great men of the realm joined me in a protest against this policy. We knew what we were risking. For some years past I have been one of those who disapproved of an offensive war—we are the last of them, the rest sit in a shameful dungeon, or have died a shameful death. Once upon a time, as happy fathers of families, we dwelt by our own firesides; now our wives and children are cast into prison, our castles are rooted up, our escutcheons are broken; but we do not ask of you what we have lost personally, we ask not for the possession of our properties, we ask not for the embraces of our wives and children, we do not even ask to see our country; we are content to die as beggars and outcasts; we only petition for the preservation of the life of the fatherland which has cast us forth, and which is rushing swiftly to destruction—hasten ye to save it."
Kucsuk Pasha, who well understood Hungarian, angrily clapped his hand upon his sword, half drew it and returned it to its sheath again. Feriz Beg involuntarily wiped away a tear from his eyes.