He then selected four horsemen.
“You will follow me,” said he; “the rest remain here. This very night we resume our march. During my absence Feriz Beg commands.”
The little boy bowed.
“If Feriz Beg receives orders from me to quit you, you will obey Ferhad Aga till I return.”
With that the Pasha struck his spurs into his horse’s sides, and galloped with his escort towards Bodola.
Then the boy whom the Pasha had called Feriz Beg rode forward with soldierly assurance, and in a deep, sonorous voice gave the order to dismount. His hard-mouthed Arab plunged, kicked, and reared, but the little commander, heedless of the capers of his steed, delivered his further orders with perfect self-possession.
Meanwhile the Pasha pursued his way towards Bodola Castle.
Paul Beldi had arrived there only the day before with his wife, having quitted Kemeny’s Court without a word of explanation, and was standing in the porch at the moment when the Turkish horsemen trotted into the courtyard. In those days the relations of Transylvania with the Turks were so peculiar, that visits of this kind might be made at any time without any previous announcement.
The Pasha no sooner beheld Beldi, than he sprang from his horse, ran up the steps to him, and brusquely presented himself—“I am Kucsuk Pasha. Being in the way, I came to have a word with thee if thou canst listen.”
“Command me,” replied Beldi, pointing to the reception-room, and motioning to his guest to enter first.
It was a square-built room, the walls of which were painted with oriental landscapes, the spaces between the windows being filled by large cut-glass mirrors in steel frames. The marble floor was covered with large variegated carpets. Round about the walls hung ancestral pictures, with clusters here and there of ancient weapons of strange shape and construction. In the middle of the room stood a large green marble table with fantastically twisted legs. Huge armchairs with morocco coverings and ponderous carvings were dispersed about the room. Facing the entrance was a door leading to a balcony, commanding a panorama of the snow-capped mountains. The evening twilight cast red and lilac patches through the painted windows on the faces of those who are now entering.
“How can I serve you?” inquired Beldi of the Pasha.
“Thou art well aware,” replied Kucsuk, “that great discord now prevails in this country on account of the throne.”
“It does not concern me. I have made up my mind to remain neutral.”
“I have not come hither to beg for thy advice or assistance in that matter; the sword will decide it. What brings me to thee is a purely family affair which concerns me deeply.”
Beldi, much surprised, made his guest sit down beside him.
“Speak,” said he.
“Thou mayest perhaps have heard, that once upon a time a daughter of the Kallay family fell in love with a young Turkish horseman, naturally without the consent of her kinsfolk?”
“Yes, I’ve heard of it. People say that the young Turk was equally victorious in love and in war.”
“Possibly. His victories in war, however, have disqualified him from being the Knight of Love. Thou seest that my face is furrowed with scars; know that I am the man who wedded that woman!”
Beldi began to regard the Pasha with curiosity and astonishment.
“I have continued to love that woman devotedly,” pursued the Pasha. “That may appear strange to thee in the mouth of a Turk, but so it is. I have had neither wife nor concubine beside her. She has borne me a son, of whom I am proud. My affairs just now are in such a critical condition that I must, with God’s help, work wonders, or perish on the battlefield. Thou knowest that the religion of Muhammad highly commends such a death. I have therefore no anxiety on that score. It is the thought of my wife which disturbs me. If she should lose me and my son, she would be in great straits. She would be persecuted in Turkey because she remained a Christian; she would be persecuted in Transylvania because she married a Mussulman. There my kinsfolk, here her own, are her enemies. I come to thee therefore with a petition. I have heard tell of thee as an honourable man, and of thy wife as a worthy woman. Receive my consort into thy family circle. She will not be a burden to thee, for I leave her everything I possess. All she wants is thy protection. If thou dost promise me that, thou canst count upon my eternal friendship and gratitude, and mayst command my fortune, my sword, and my life in case I survive.”
Beldi pressed the hand of the Pasha.
“Bring your wife hither. I and my family will welcome her as a kinswoman.”
“I may bring her then?”
“We shall be delighted to see her,” returned Beldi; and he commanded his retainers to escort the Pasha’s suite back to Tatrang with torches, and fetch from thence his carriage.
Kucsuk sent word by them that Feriz Beg was to come too.
Meanwhile Beldi introduced Kucsuk to his wife, and he was not a little delighted to find that she recollected the Pasha’s wife as one of her girlish friends, whom she looked forward to see again with sincere joy and some curiosity.
After the lapse of some hours the carriage rumbled noisily into the well-paved courtyard. Feriz Beg escorted it on horseback.
Lady Beldi hastened down the steps to meet the Pasha’s wife as she stepped out of the coach, and received her with a cry of joy—“What! Catharine! Do you still know me?”
The lady immediately recognized her youthful playfellow, and the two friends rushed into each other’s arms, kissed again and again, and said of course the sweetest things to each other—“Why, darling, you are more handsome than ever!”—“And you, dear! What a stately woman you have grown!” etc.,
