Mohammed Ali and His House [153]
out at once with two of my women; you may ride beside my carriage."
Sitta Nefysseh arose and left the kiosk. She passed close by him, and her white veil lightly touched Youssouf's shoulder. He stood as if touched by a magic wand and fixed to the spot. He could not follow his mistress, who walked proudly toward the place where the women awaited her. He followed her with his eyes, however, and saw how her long flowing garment adjusted itself to her lovely figure, and how her white veil fluttered about her noble head, enveloping it as with a delicate white cloud.
"Would that I were the wind that kisses your cheek!" murmured he, lost in contemplation of his idol. "Would I were the sand your foot blesses with its touch! To die near you, beholding you in death, were heavenly bliss."
Sitta Nefysseh had disappeared behind the clump of bushes. Kachef Youssouf still stood before the kiosk. He listened. The music had ceased. He knew that his mistress was returning with her women to the house. He hastily glanced around the garden, fastening his large, black eyes, on every bush, as if expecting to find an enemy concealed there. No one is to be seen. Only Heaven and the bees in the air see Youssouf as he rushes into the kiosk, picks up the rose, presses it passionately to his lips, and then conceals it in his bosom.
CHAPTER XI
THE COUNCIL OF WAR.
From the day of their first meeting, when Cousrouf Pacha appointed Mohammed Ali sarechsme, the new general had proved his bravery and his shrewdness in many a skirmish and battle with the Mamelukes. He had already captured from them two strongholds, and had returned victorious from every battle with them. Cousrouf praised his fortune at having such a general at his side. Mohammed Ali showed himself so zealous and devoted in his service that the viceroy listened to his advice only, and called him his favorite and confidant.
"Truly, I am a happy man," said Cousrouf to himself. "I am the ruler of a great kingdom. I have friends at my side in whom I can confide, and who will assist me in all my plans, executing all I determine. Who knows but that a great future still awaits me, and that the crown which now hangs suspended over my head may not one day adorn it in reality? Mohammed shall aid me. He is the bravest of the brave, and the wisest of the wise."
He walked to and fro in his room as he said this to himself, his countenance radiant with smiles.
"I will soon have my wives brought to me, and my daughters also. Who knows, perhaps it were well to chain the sarechsme, Mohammed Ali, to my side with still closer bonds? Who knows? Sometimes a strange presentiment comes over me when I look at him. Mohammed's eyes sometimes glitter so strangely and angrily, but he is conscious of it at once, and then becomes more gentle and devoted than ever. There are times when I distrust him. It were perhaps well to fasten him to my side so firmly that he cannot free himself. Yes, I had best give him one of my daughters in marriage. He must be submissive and devoted to his father-in-law at all times," said he, in low tones, "Sometimes I think his smooth countenance conceals a gloomy soul, and that Mohammed Ali has not yet forgotten the evil done the young lad in Cavalla. But these are mere fancies. He has proved on every occasion that he no longer thinks of it. I will have him called and study his countenance while speaking with him."
He sent one of his slaves to request the sarechsme to come to him. After a few minutes Mohammed entered. He bowed profoundly before Cousrouf, and seemed delighted when invited to seat himself beside the pacha on the divan, and smoke the chibouque with him.
"Tell me, Mohammed, how old are you?" asked Cousrouf, after a pause, blowing clouds of smoke from his lips, and seeming to regard the general with kindly composure. "How old are you?"
"I hardly know, highness," replied Mohammed, smiling. "But let me count. I believe I was fifteen when, at Cavalla, I first had the happiness of meeting you, my distinguished master."
"Let us proceed with the
Sitta Nefysseh arose and left the kiosk. She passed close by him, and her white veil lightly touched Youssouf's shoulder. He stood as if touched by a magic wand and fixed to the spot. He could not follow his mistress, who walked proudly toward the place where the women awaited her. He followed her with his eyes, however, and saw how her long flowing garment adjusted itself to her lovely figure, and how her white veil fluttered about her noble head, enveloping it as with a delicate white cloud.
"Would that I were the wind that kisses your cheek!" murmured he, lost in contemplation of his idol. "Would I were the sand your foot blesses with its touch! To die near you, beholding you in death, were heavenly bliss."
Sitta Nefysseh had disappeared behind the clump of bushes. Kachef Youssouf still stood before the kiosk. He listened. The music had ceased. He knew that his mistress was returning with her women to the house. He hastily glanced around the garden, fastening his large, black eyes, on every bush, as if expecting to find an enemy concealed there. No one is to be seen. Only Heaven and the bees in the air see Youssouf as he rushes into the kiosk, picks up the rose, presses it passionately to his lips, and then conceals it in his bosom.
CHAPTER XI
THE COUNCIL OF WAR.
From the day of their first meeting, when Cousrouf Pacha appointed Mohammed Ali sarechsme, the new general had proved his bravery and his shrewdness in many a skirmish and battle with the Mamelukes. He had already captured from them two strongholds, and had returned victorious from every battle with them. Cousrouf praised his fortune at having such a general at his side. Mohammed Ali showed himself so zealous and devoted in his service that the viceroy listened to his advice only, and called him his favorite and confidant.
"Truly, I am a happy man," said Cousrouf to himself. "I am the ruler of a great kingdom. I have friends at my side in whom I can confide, and who will assist me in all my plans, executing all I determine. Who knows but that a great future still awaits me, and that the crown which now hangs suspended over my head may not one day adorn it in reality? Mohammed shall aid me. He is the bravest of the brave, and the wisest of the wise."
He walked to and fro in his room as he said this to himself, his countenance radiant with smiles.
"I will soon have my wives brought to me, and my daughters also. Who knows, perhaps it were well to chain the sarechsme, Mohammed Ali, to my side with still closer bonds? Who knows? Sometimes a strange presentiment comes over me when I look at him. Mohammed's eyes sometimes glitter so strangely and angrily, but he is conscious of it at once, and then becomes more gentle and devoted than ever. There are times when I distrust him. It were perhaps well to fasten him to my side so firmly that he cannot free himself. Yes, I had best give him one of my daughters in marriage. He must be submissive and devoted to his father-in-law at all times," said he, in low tones, "Sometimes I think his smooth countenance conceals a gloomy soul, and that Mohammed Ali has not yet forgotten the evil done the young lad in Cavalla. But these are mere fancies. He has proved on every occasion that he no longer thinks of it. I will have him called and study his countenance while speaking with him."
He sent one of his slaves to request the sarechsme to come to him. After a few minutes Mohammed entered. He bowed profoundly before Cousrouf, and seemed delighted when invited to seat himself beside the pacha on the divan, and smoke the chibouque with him.
"Tell me, Mohammed, how old are you?" asked Cousrouf, after a pause, blowing clouds of smoke from his lips, and seeming to regard the general with kindly composure. "How old are you?"
"I hardly know, highness," replied Mohammed, smiling. "But let me count. I believe I was fifteen when, at Cavalla, I first had the happiness of meeting you, my distinguished master."
"Let us proceed with the