Yffim Beg alone accompanies the Pasha thither.
The Governor, after embracing the odalisk, strolled thoughtfully through the labyrinth of fragrant trees where the paths were covered by coloured pebbles and a whole army of domesticated birds made their nests in the trees. Yffim Beg follows them at a little distance, and not a movement escapes his keen eyes, not so much as a sigh eludes his sharp ears; he keeps a strict watch on all that Azrael does and says.
In the midst of their walk—they hadn't gone a hundred paces—a falcon rose before them from among the trees and perched on a poplar close by.
"Look, sir, what a beautiful falcon!" cried Yffim Beg.
Azrael laughed aloud and looked back.
"Oh, my good Beg, how canst thou take a wood-pigeon for a falcon? why it was a wood-pigeon."
"I took good note of it, Azrael, and there it is sitting on that poplar."
"Why, that's better still—now he calls a nut-tree a poplar. Eh, eh! worthy Beg, thou must needs have been drinking a little to see so badly."
"Well, that was what I fancied," said the Beg, much perplexed, and for the life of him not perceiving the point of the jest. Why should the odalisk make a fool of him so?
"But look then, my love," said Azrael, appealing to the Pasha; "thou didst see that bird fly away from the tree yonder, was it not a wood-pigeon flying from a nut-tree?"