I hate him! Yet I will humiliate myself for
my friend's sake, and play the humble and devoted servant. I shall
find strength to do so, for it is for Mohammed and his white dove.
Yes, I will go with my father to the pacha's apartments."
A quarter of an hour later Tschorbadji Hassan, with a startled and
sorrowful expression of countenance entered the room where Cousrouf
Pacha lay reclining on his soft cushions, dreamily smoking his
chibouque.
"Is it, then, really true? The whole house is filled with dismay and
regret. Is it true that you intend leaving us tomorrow?"
"Perhaps," replied the pacha, composedly, rising slowly from his
cushions to quiet the governor, with haughty condescension.
"So soon? Then it is indeed true? We had heard so, but we could not
and would not believe it. We love you so dearly that we shall
unwillingly see you depart. Even my son, my poor sick Osman, who
cannot walk up a stairway because of his weakness, has requested
that he may be permitted to come in person to take leave of you, and
to beg that you will remember and be gracious to him in the future
also. Will your excellency permit his servants to bring him in?"
Cousrouf Pacha made no reply, but arose, walked hastily to the door,
opened it himself, and stepped out to Osman, who lay on the couch,
beside which stood the slaves who had brought him up.
"Osman, I thank you for this proof of your friendly consideration.
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