The man, influenced by Hassan’s commanding figure and the use of the Turkish language, immediately led the way to a small pavilion occupied by the hakim, and adjoining the private apartments of the Viceroy.
When Hassan entered he found the Doctor sitting in a comfortable dressing-gown drinking his cup of coffee and looking over the last Italian journal. When he saw our hero, and received his salutation, he seemed sorely perplexed, for a year and a half of hardship and exposure had changed the youth into a powerful man; yet the frank, open countenance, not easily forgotten, was there unchanged, and it was not necessary for him to name himself, for the hakim broke out suddenly, “Cospetto di Bacco! it is Hassan himself. Why, man, I am glad to see you—no, I am not; I am sorry to see you, for you must be mad. You know that you are under arrest and forbidden to leave your father’s house—the Viceroy will never forgive disobedience to his orders.”
“Excellency,” said Hassan gravely, “I have come upon a matter of life and death, and I must see the Viceroy immediately and alone. It is not my life or death that is at stake, but one of greater value to me, to you, and to Egypt.”
“Per Bacco!” said the hakim, “your forehead looks like a thunder-cloud, and you speak like a man who is in earnest. You wish to see the Viceroy immediately and alone, you say?”
“Immediately,” repeated Hassan impatiently; “and alone.”
“But,” replied the cautious physician, “Mohammed Ali is a fearless man—the world knows it; but would it be usual, would it be right, that he should be left alone with——” Here the worthy physician hesitated as he cast his eyes upon the powerful figure before him.
“With a freebooter and outlaw, you would say,” interposed Hassan, with one of his frank smiles. “But I am not an assassin. I only said alone because I know not who of all his Highness’s attendants are trustworthy! However, I suppose you are, and therefore if the Viceroy pleases, you may be present, and you may hold a loaded pistol at my ear all the time that I am in his Highness’s presence.”
“I ask your pardon,” said the Italian hakim, offering his hand. “I did not mean to offend or to hint at your being an assassin; but you know what mischievous tongues wag in these Turkish serais, and how I should be blamed were I not cautious in all that regarded the safety of my chief. Now help yourself to a cup of coffee, and I will do your commission at once.” So saying, the hakim disappeared through a side-door that communicated directly with the Viceroy’s apartment. In five minutes he reappeared, and making a sign to Hassan to follow, led him to a small room where Mohammed Ali was seated in the corner on a divan covered with rich crimson damask.
“You have broken your arrest,” said Mohammed Ali, fixing his piercing eyes on Hassan as he entered; “I trust you have sufficient reason for your disobedience.”
“Your Highness shall judge,” replied Hassan, “when you have heard what I have to tell. I knew that I had already given you such serious ground of offence that I would not for a light cause have added another to the list.”