Hassan rapidly mounted the stairs, and following the direction he had received, ran rather than walked along the dimly lighted passage which led to the Pasha’s room. Just as he reached the end, and was about to enter, he encountered a woman coming out, and the concussion was such that she must inevitably have fallen had he not caught her in his arms. As it was, the shock was such that it displaced her veil, and for a few seconds she was unable to speak. Hassan saw that she was a middle-aged woman, who still retained traces of early beauty; it was Fatimeh Khanum retiring from her interview with the Pasha.
“I hope you are not much hurt, lady,” said he in a tone of respectful solicitude, and depositing her gently on a stone seat at the side of the passage.
“Not hurt,” she replied, with difficulty regaining her breath, “but very much frightened.”
“I cannot forgive myself for being so careless,” he continued; “but I was in haste to obey the Pasha’s summons. I hope you forgive me; you can be sure I meant no rudeness to you.”
“I believe it, young Aga,” she replied with a smile, fixing her eyes involuntarily on the open and animated countenance before her. “I am recovered now; you had better go in to the Pasha, who is waiting.”
Hassan, after saluting her respectfully, left her and entered the Pasha’s room.
“You have not been very quick in obeying our summons,” said the latter, with a slight frown on his brow.
Hassan explained the accident by which he had been detained in the passage.
“What!” he cried, bursting out into a fit of laughter, “so you nearly knocked down our poor Kiahia Khanum, did you? I am glad she was not hurt. She is a good, kind-hearted soul. Now come here, Hassan, and tell me if you know anything of the postscript added by Mohammed Ali’s order to the merchant’s letter?”
“Nothing,” replied Hassan. “His Highness gave his orders in a whisper to the interpreter.”