Their hands upon their swords, the soldiers stood waiting beside the
door.

Mohammed remained silent and thoughtful in the middle of the mosque.
He felt that a great, an important moment had come for him. He
thought of his mother. "She hovers over me; she looks down, and sees
her son enter on a new life. When I leave the mosque, I will be no
longer the poor, despised boy; I will have proved myself a man. O my
mother, look down on me, and pray to Allah to be merciful to me!"

A dark shadow crossed the rays of the sun which fell through the
open door. It was one of the soldiers who came in with the sheik.

Mohammed did not step forward to meet him, as he should have done,
out of respect for the old man, with his white beard. To-day he was
no longer the poor boy, who must bow down before his superiors. He
was himself one of the powers that be. He held his head aloft while
the sheik approached.

"I was summoned in the name of the tschorbadji," said the sheik,
looking with astonishment at Mohammed. "It is very strange that I
find here no one but Mohammed Ali, the son of Ibrahim Aga. Had I
known that the tschorbadji had sent a boy to me, I would have
required him to bring me the message."

"I summoned you in the name of the tscborbadji, and in his name I
stand here!" said Mohammed, proudly. "I am not a boy, as you are
pleased to call me, but an acknowledged authority. I have received
my authority from the tschorbadji, and I demand submission from
you!"