This is our last meeting, yet
you shall often hear of me, and this I tell you in advance: Cousrouf
Pacha, where you stood in your power and magnificence, there shall
Mohammed Ali stand. He will, however, be more powerful than you
were, and no one shall deal with him as he has dealt with you. No
one shall depose him from his place, be assured of this, and
remember it in your solitude at Imbro. Bear my greeting to Cavalla,
to the yellow shore, and to Masa's deep, blue grave. And now I have
nothing more to say to you. I shall send up the bim bashi who is to
conduct you to Alexandria, and accompany you on the ship to your
home at Imbro. Farewell!"
He turns and hastily leaves the room, without looking again at
Cousrouf, who stands there motionless and deathly pale.
On ascending and unlocking the door of Cousrouf's prison, the bim
bashi sees him stretched out on the floor, pale and motionless. Is
he dead? Has the terrible blow destroyed him?
It were well for Cousrouf if he were dead! But no; he lives! He had
only for the moment found relief in insensibility from the
consciousness of humiliation and disgrace.
He returns to consciousness, is led down to the court-yard, mounted
on his ass, and conducted by the bim bashi and the slaves to
Alexandria. From there he is transported in the vessel, that lies in
readiness, across the sea to Imbro, to the citadel, from whose
windows he can see Cavalla, the water, and the place where he buried
Masa beneath the cold, blue waves.
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