"Only to refresh a person who seems about to die of thirst," answered Alischar; "but I shall be back again in a moment, my dear Smaragdine." With this he ran downstairs, and was surprised to find the Infidel, whom he had left without on the street, seated within the porch.
"Dog of a Giaour!" says he, "what do you here?"
"Pardon me, good sir," replies the Giaour; "I was so wearied that my legs refused to support me any longer, and it was a matter of mere necessity that I should sit down somewhere."
Alischar gave him a cup of water, and waited to see him arise and take his departure; but, behold, nothing was less in the man's mind.
"Out with you," at last cries Alischar; "out this moment, I say."
"Blessed," says the Giaour, "be they that refuse not a drink of water to him who standeth athirst before the door, and who grudge not a bit of bread to him that is a-hungered. Now my thirst is quenched, but my hunger is even greater than that was. Give me a bit of bread and a couple of onions, and for more I will not trouble you."
"Pack off!" said Alischar; "there is nothing in the house."
"With your leave, sir," says the other, producing his purse, "here are one hundred ducats: have the kindness to seek some bread and onions here in your neighbourhood, and I shall feel myself eternally obliged by your condescension."
"The man is mad," thinks Alischar to himself; "but that is no reason why I should suffer a hundred ducats to go a-begging for quarters."
"Haste, sir, haste!" continued the Giaour. "I am near to death, so great is my hunger, and no one knows what sort of a misery that is until he has experienced it himself. If it be but a crust, a crumb—a morsel of dry meal even; but something I must have, else I want strength to move myself from this seat."