He flies to his mother's hut, takes down his gun
from the wall, and loads it. He then climbs rapidly among the cliffs
in search of the wild-pigeons for the poor sick Osman.
In an hour, Mohammed returned with his game. As he walked along,
carrying the four birds in his band, he said to himself with a
smile: "Was it not well that I learned to deny myself a pleasure?
And here I have the recompense, the enjoyment. For it is a
recompense to be able to gratify a wish of dear good Osman; he was
always so kind to me."
He now entered the court-yard of the palace in which Tschorbadji
Hassan Bey resided. An Armenian slave stood at the gate, who seemed
to have been awaiting the boys. He bowed profoundly, which he had
never done before, and announced that his grace Osman Bey was in the
garden, and had ordered that Mohammed Ali should bring the pigeons
himself, and that Tschorbadji Hassan was also there awaiting him.
"Show me the way, I will follow," said Mohammed, whose tranquil
countenance gave no indication that he felt flattered at the great
honor of being admitted to the garden.
The Armenian led the way with an air of profound respect. Proudly,
his head erect, Mohammed followed him through the wide hall of the
palace and into the garden.
The fragrance arising from the carefully-cultivated flower-beds was
delightful; the kiosks and baldachins were so charming! "Paradise
must be like this," thought Mohammed, and he breathed the fragrant
air with delight.
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