"Tell me, ye men," asked Masa, quickly, "what is the amount of the
tax you are called on to pay?"
"The simple tax, Masa, amounts to one hundred sequins. Consider how
heavy a burden this alone is. There are hardly fifty men of us
living here in Praousta, and really it seems to us quite sufficient
that each of us has two sequins to pay at the end of each summer.
But to pay the double tax is simply impossible. Your father well
knew this, Masa, and he therefore sternly commanded us not to pay,
as the demand was contrary to law and justice."
"A hundred sequins," cried she, with sparkling eyes. "Then all is
well. Come, ye men of Praousta let us ascend the stairway. The hour
of the second prayer has not yet come, and until then, with the
tschrobadji's consent, Mohammed Ali has granted us a respite. Wait
on the crest of the rock above until I call you. I shall now go to
the tschorbadji; pray ye, in the mean while, to Allah, that my words
may prove effectual."
She ascended the stairway with flying footsteps. With dejected
looks, the men slowly followed. "We are wrong in allowing her to
persuade us to submit to the tschorbadji. We will, however, pay the
just tax, and no more. We would not pay more, even if we could. Here
let us stay and await the call of our sheik's daughter."
"And let us pray, as she requested," murmured others. On bended
knees, and with solemn countenances, the men, but now so noisy and
fierce, awaited Masa's return in silence.
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