He then grasped him by
the shoulders and looked him firmly in the eye. "Cousrouf Pacha, I,
Mohammed Ali, make you my prisoner."
Cousrouf makes no reply, but only gazes defiantly upon his enemy;
gradually his head sinks down upon his breast. Yes, he is vanquished
and a prisoner, a prisoner of his worst enemy. He could be in no
worse hands than in those that now hold him. To become Mohammed
Ali's prisoner was the worst that could befall him.
And vanquished and captured he is, by this his most relentless
enemy! With him are vanquished all his followers, and nothing is
left of the fortress of Damietta but ashes and ruins.
The victors have decided to send Cousrouf a prisoner to Cairo, to
the citadel where he once sat enthroned.
Mohammed entered the apartment in a half-burned house of Damietta in
which Cousrouf was confined. None else is in the room. Without, the
sentinel is pacing to and fro, and in an adjoining room lie two
Nubian slaves who have remained faithful to their master, wounded
and exhausted by loss of blood.
Cousrouf sees Mohammed enter, and a groan escapes his breast;
involuntarily he carries his hand to his belt. He is unarmed! He
cannot hurl himself upon him, and in his downfall destroy him also.
Mohammed stands before him, armed, his eyes fixed on him in a hard,
cruel gaze. Cousrouf feels this, glance, and knows that his enemy
rejoices in his humiliation.
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