Then suffer,
Cousrouf; and, let me tell you, from this hour I shall suffer no
longer--from this hour my wounds are healed, for your wounds bleed.
And now go to Cairo humiliated, covered with disgrace, the prisoner
of Mohammed Ali!"
CHAPTER X
THE RETURN TO CAIRO.
Joy and exultation reign in Cairo. The united forces of the
Mamelukes, Albanians, and Armenians, have returned home crowned with
victory. Damietta and Rosetta have fallen, and the Turks have
everywhere retreated; a miserable remnant only have found safety in
Alexandria, where Courschid Pacha rules.
The people throng the streets to witness the grand entrance of the
victorious troops.
There, at the head of four thousand Mamelukes, surrounded by a body
of beys and kachefs, comes Osman Bey Bardissi, the hero of so many
battles. How sparkling his eyes, how radiant the smile with which he
greets the populace that hails him with shouts of enthusiasm!
He passes by, and now come the Albanians and Armenians. At their
head rides the sarechsme, Mohammed Ali; around him his bim bashis,
in their glittering uniforms. But who is it that rides beside him on
the splendidly-caparisoned ass--who is the man in the long green
caftan, trimmed with fur, the green turban on his head adorned with
its glittering crescent? He is unarmed, and yet he rides beside the
sarechsme. His countenance is pale, and his lips are firmly
compressed, as if to keep back a cry of rage that struggles for
utterance.
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