Azrael listened to all this with great attention. Yffim Beg regarded her with a radiant countenance, as much as to say: “You see our heads won’t ache yet!”
The odalisque, however, trembled no longer; she pressed her lips tightly together, and as if she was quite certain of what she was about to do, she pressed her sweetly smiling face close to that of the Vizier, and hanging on his arms, whispered to him:
“O Hassan, how my soul would rejoice if I could see flow the blood of thine enemies.”
Hassan sat the damsel on his knees, and his lips sported with her twining tresses.
Yffim Beg was in such a mighty good humour at being commissioned by Hassan to go as ambassador to the Prince of Transylvania, and so blindly exalted by such a mark of confidence, that he fancied he could well afford to torment Azrael a little.
“Whilst thou wert away, my master,” said he, “thy damsel implored me to grant her a favour, which I dare not do without first asking thy permission.”
Azrael regarded the smiling Beg with sparkling eyes, anxiously awaiting what he would be bold enough to betray.
“What was it?—speak, Yffim Beg,” remarked Hassan wildly.
“Thou and the other Pashas are about to condemn a youth to death—young Feriz Beg, I mean.”
“Well?” said Hassan frowning, while the odalisque whom he held embraced trembled all over.
“Azrael would like to see the young man die.”
The girl grew pale at these words; her heart for a moment ceased to beat, and then began fiercely to throb again.
“A foolish wish,” said Hassan; “but if thou desire it, be it so! Be present at the meeting of the Pashas, stand behind the curtains by my side, and thou shalt hear and see everything.”
Azrael imprinted a long and burning kiss on Hassan’s forehead with a face full of death, and stood behind the curtain holding the folds together with her hands.
“If thou shouldst faint,” whispered Yffim Beg sarcastically, “thou shalt have a vessel of musk from me.”
Azrael laughed so loudly that Yffim fancied she must have gone mad.
“And now call the Pashas and draw the curtain of the tent,” commanded Hassan.
At the invitation of Yffim all the officers of the camp came to the pavilion and took their seats in a circle on cushions. Last of all came the Grand Vizier, Kiuprile, a big, stout, angry man, who, without looking at anyone, sat down on the cushion beside Hassan and turned his back upon him.
Then the roll of drums was heard, and Kucsuk Pasha and Feriz Beg, well guarded, were brought in from different sides—Kucsuk on the left hand, and Feriz on the right.
“Look!” whispered Azrael to Hassan from behind the curtain; “look how proud they are, the son on the right, the father on the left. They seem to be encouraging each other with their glances.”
Hassan nodded his head as if thanking his favourite for assisting his weak eyes, and as both figures came within the obscurity of the tent, where the light was not very good at the best of times, acting on the hint given, he turned towards the aged Kucsuk Pasha and cried:
“Thou immature youth, step back till I speak to thee.”
Then, turning to young Feriz Beg, he said:
“Step forward, thou hardened old traitor! Wherefore didst thou leave the armies of the Sublime Sultan in the lurch?”
Feriz Beg, as if a weapon against his persecutors had suddenly been put into his hand, stepped boldly right up to Hassan Pasha, and exclaimed in a bold voice, which rang though the tent:
“Thou art the traitor, not I; for thou darest to hold the office of general when thou art blind and canst not distinguish two paces off father from son, or an enemy from a friend.”
Hassan sprang in terror from his carpet when he heard Kucsuk’s son speak instead of Kucsuk.
“That is not true,” he stammered, changing colour.
“Not true!” replied Feriz stiffly; “then, if thine eyes be good, wilt thou tell me what regiment is now passing thy tent with martial music?”
The tent be it understood was open towards the plain overlooking the whole camp and the river beyond.
A military band was just then crossing the ground not far from the tent, quite alone; no regiment was coming after it.
“Methinks, thou mutinous dog, ’tis no answer to my question to inquire what regiment is now passing by, for it maybe that I know better than thou why it has arrived; nor is it part of my duty to mention the rabble by name; suffice it that I hear the trumpets and see the banners.”
The Pashas looked at each other; there was neither regiment nor banners.
“So that’s it, eh?” said Kiuprile, spitting in front of him; and with that he rose from his place, and, without looking at Hassan, took Kucsuk and Feriz by the arm. “Come!” said he to the other generals—“you can go now!” he cried to the guards, and the whole assembly withdrew from the tent.
Hassan fell back on his carpet. He himself had betrayed his great defect.
Azrael rushed from her hiding-place.
“Oh, my master!” she cried; “thou didst wrongly interpret my words, and so made everything go wrong.”
“I am lost,” he stammered, and quite beside himself he plunged into the interior of the tent to pray with the dervishes.
Yffim Beg stood there as if his soul had been filched from him; while Azrael approached him with a smile of devilish scorn and stroked his
