Osman lay on his cushions in the little portion of his garden that
had alone been reserved for the use of himself and father, since
Cousrouf Pacha had been occupying the remainder with his harem. He
heard the howls and cries of pain that came from the harem, and
bowed his head in sadness.
"These poor wretches must suffer for it!" he murmured to himself.
But suddenly his countenance brightens, as he sees his friend
approaching in his glittering uniform, and he extends both hands to
greet him.
"I am delighted to see you, Mohammed, after this long absence!"
"As I am you!" said the latter, his countenance radiant with smiles.
"Forgive me for not having come to see you all day yesterday. I was
so busy with my soldiers, and still more so with myself, Osman! I
have had much to learn to keep the soldiers from observing that I
was a mere beginner in the art of war."
"And that is all you have to say in excuse for your conduct?" said
Osman, looking searchingly into his friend's countenance.
"That is all," replied he, hastily, endeavoring to look his friend
full in the face. But be could not, and looked aside.
Osman notices this, and nods his head with a smile full of meaning.
"Pray seat yourself at my side Mohammed? Let me throw my arm around
your neck, and then listen to me, my friend. Offer no resistance,
for I must confess that your friend Osman has been employing spies
for some time past, and be knows more than Mohammed supposes, and
much more than Consrouf Pacha dreams of.
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