“Ah!—do not whisper it.... That is my brother, Saïd!”
“He raises his eyes very high?”
“Not so, effendim; it is she who raises her eyes. I fear—I fear for Saïd. The Pasha ... you have heard of him?”
“I may have heard his name,” I replied; “but I am quite unfamiliar with his reputation.”
Hassan shook his head gloomily.
“He is the last of his race,” he explained; “the race of the Khalîfs. He inhabits the ancient palace—but much has been rebuilt, and much added—in Old Cairo, close behind the Coptic Church....”
“I did not know that such a palace even existed.”
Again Hassan raised his finger to his lips.
“He is not like the other pashas,” he said; “in the house of Harûn Pasha are observed to-day all the old customs as in the day of his great ancestor Harûn al-Raschîd.”