He hurried off without awaiting a reply.
In perfect silence they traversed several narrow streets without meeting any one. It was nearly dark at the time, and it was evident that the rioters had been restrained by the new Dey, for their shouts were now heard in only two or three of the main thoroughfares.
During his service as scribe to Achmet, Lucien had visited all parts of the town, and was familiar with its main outlines, if not with its details. He therefore knew how to avoid the frequented parts, and yet take a pretty direct course for Bab-Azoun. But he was sorely perplexed as to how he should now act, for it was much too early in the night to make an attempt to get over the city walls.
In this dilemma he retired into the deep shadow of an old doorway, and covered up the lantern, while he held a whispered consultation with his father.
“It seems to me, my son,” said Francisco, sitting down on the chest which he had hitherto carried, “that we have only got out of the frying-pan into the fire; for it is not reason to expect that all the janissaries we chance to meet will let us pass without question, and I fear that you have no sufficient ground of excuse for wandering about the city at such hours in disturbed times in charge of a slave on whose countenance submission sits with so bad a grace.”
“True, father,” answered Lucien, much perplexed; “perhaps it would be well to remain where we are till a later hour. If any one seeks to enter this dismal staircase, we can easily avoid observation by getting into one of its dark corners, and—”
He was interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps, and immediately retired with his father into one of the corners referred to.
“It is only two streets further on,” said a low voice, which sounded familiar in the ears of the listeners. “There you shall be safe, for Jacob Mordecai is a trusty friend, and I will go see how it fares with our—”
“’Tis Bacri,” whispered Lucien, as the voice died away in the distance.
“We must not lose sight of him,” said Francisco, darting out.