No one but Allah hears the oath
that now resounds in his soul, as he stands in an humble attitude at
the door, waiting to be addressed. "I have sworn vengeance, and I
will keep my oath. Vengeance for Masa; vengeance for the torments I
have endured. My head is now bowed in humility before you, yet I
swear to repay you for the evil you have done me; not by killing
you, but by torturing your soul. We are alone, without witnesses; it
were an easy thing to slay you. The door stands open, and I could
flee before the deed could be known. But death is no revenge for
years of torture. You shall live, and live in agony and pain. Thus
will Mohammed Ali be avenged!"
In his heart he swears this oath. His lips do not quiver; no feature
of his countenance betrays what is passing within. Cousrouf stands
still before him, and lays his hand on Mohammed's shoulder. "Look at
me, Mohammed!"
The latter looks up, and the eyes of both are firmly fixed on each
other. The young general divines Cousrouf's thoughts, but the pacha
does not divine Mohammed's.
"You said that the Mohammed of the days when I resided in Cavalla is
dead. Is it true?"
"Yes, highness, it is true. He is dead, or he has at least
transformed himself into a better man. Yet, highness, he suffered
much before he could accomplish this transformation."
"That I can readily believe," says Cousrouf, in low tones.
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