“We’ll all go together,” said Judith quietly.
“And form a body-guard,” laughed Pasquale.
Carlotta clinging to my arm we left the box and slipped through the promenade and down the stairs.
Hamdi Effendi, having anticipated our intention, cut off our retreat in the vestibule. Carlotta shrank nearer to me.
“I beg your pardon, Monsieur, but may I have the pleasure of a few words with you about this young lady?” said he in the urbanest manner and the most execrable French.
“I hardly see the necessity,” said I.
“Pardon me, but this young lady is a Turkish subject and my daughter. My name is Hamdi Effendi, Prefect of Police at Aleppo, and my address in London is the Hotel Metropole.”
“I am charmed to make your acquaintance,” said I. “I have often heard of you from Mademoiselle—but I believe both her father and mother were English, so she is neither your daughter nor a Turkish subject.”
“Ah, that we will see,” rejoined the polite Oriental. He addressed some words rapidly in Turkish to Carlotta, who shudderingly replied in the same language.
“Mademoiselle unfortunately does not consent to accompany me,” he interpreted with a smile. “So I am afraid I will have to take her back without her consent.”