One is easily surprised by the enemy who is not feared, and against
whose snares the heart is not on its guard . . . This will be your
fate, Mohammed. Your heart is not on its guard, and does not fear
the enemy, love . . . But my poor heart has no cause to fear and be
on its guard; let me repeat it, Mohammed; look at me. Can the poor,
pale youth, with his wan countenance, his sunken breast, and his
weak breath can he think of marrying? Or do you suppose I would care
to become a subject of jest in the harem to the female slaves and
servants, who would have to wait on the sick man? True, the
tschorbadji, my father, has sometimes spoken of giving me an
establishment of my own with my eighteenth year. I remained silent,
for fortunately it is at present impossible. My establishment was to
have been above in the upper saloons, and fortunately Cousrouf Pacha
with his harem is still in possession of that part of our house. May
he long remain there! I do not wish it on his account, or because I
love him, but solely because my father must now delay the execution
of this plan. May Cousrouf Pacha, therefore, long remain!"

"I do not wish it," said Mohammed, gloomily; "he is a hard, proud
man, better in his own estimation than anybody here in Cavalla,
better even than the tschorbadji. I never saw a prouder man. And
what right has he to be so? Has he not fallen into disgrace with the
sultan? Did he not come here because he was banished from Stamboul?
And do you know why he was banished? I will tell you: because--so
have strangers who have come here reported, because he sought the
death of his benefactor and master, the grand admiral, Hussein
Pacha, in order that he might put himself in his place. Isn't this
horrible, Osman? The grand-admiral had bought him as a slave, and
then, because he loved him; made him free, and a wealthy man; he had
him instructed, and persuaded the sultan to appoint him bey and