The people shout with delight, "Long live our viceroy and the
princes!" The guns of the citadel thunder forth a greeting, and
announce to the people that the viceroy no longer rules alone, but
that his sons now rule with him. The welfare of the land is assured,
for the existence of the ruling house is assured.
The young princes mount the horses held in readiness for them, and
ride into the city bide their father. The thunder of the cannon
resounds continuously, shout after shout rends the air, the band of
the regiment of soldiers that had been drawn up at the landing to
receive the princes, joins in the acclaim with merry strains of
music, and the regiment falls into line, and marches behind the
viceroy and his suite. Dense masses of people, Turks and Armenians,
Copts and Jews, Arabs and fellahs, throng the streets through which
they pass. On the imposing procession moves toward the citadel.
At the same time a splendid debahieh has landed at the second place;
it is the wife of Mohammed Ali, who stands on the deck. No soldiers,
and in fact no men, await her on the shore. A wide space about the
landing is kept free by the eunuchs, who drive the curious back with
threatening gestures. Hundreds of women stand on either side of the
landing-place in long rows, their heads enveloped in long white
veils that fall down over the splendid dresses glittering with
silver embroidery.
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