"It is it!" he cried. "It is sent by Smith Pasha, Minister under the Peace of Heaven of the United States. It is the Intervention. I am saved."
Then there was silence among us, breathless and anxious.
Abdul glanced down the missive, reading it in silence to himself.
"Oh noble," he murmured. "Oh generous! It is too much. Too splendid a lot!"
"What does it say?"
"Look," said the Sultan. "The United States has used its good offices. It has intervened! All is settled. My fate is secure."
"Yes, yes," I said, "but what is it?"
"Is it believable?" exclaimed Abdul. "It appears that none of the belligerents cared about me at all. None had designs upon me. The war was not made, as we understood, Toomuch, as an attempt to seize my person. All they wanted was Constantinople. Not me at all!"
"Powerful Allah!" murmured Toomuch. "Why was it not so said?"
"For me," said the Sultan, still consulting the letter, "great honours are prepared! I am to leave Constantinople —that is the sole condition. It shall then belong to whoever can get it. Nothing could be fairer. It always has. I am to have a safe conduct—is it not noble?—to the United States. No one is to attempt to poison me—is it not generosity itself?—neither on land nor even—mark this especially, Toomuch—on board ship. Nor is anyone to throw me overboard or otherwise transport me to paradise."