He now entered the court-yard of the palace in which Tschorbadji
Hassan Bey resided. An Armenian slave stood at the gate, who seemed
to have been awaiting the boys. He bowed profoundly, which he had
never done before, and announced that his grace Osman Bey was in the
garden, and had ordered that Mohammed Ali should bring the pigeons
himself, and that Tschorbadji Hassan was also there awaiting him.

"Show me the way, I will follow," said Mohammed, whose tranquil
countenance gave no indication that he felt flattered at the great
honor of being admitted to the garden.

The Armenian led the way with an air of profound respect. Proudly,
his head erect, Mohammed followed him through the wide hall of the
palace and into the garden.

The fragrance arising from the carefully-cultivated flower-beds was
delightful; the kiosks and baldachins were so charming! "Paradise
must be like this," thought Mohammed, and he breathed the fragrant
air with delight. But he turned his head neither to the right nor to
the left, that no one might observe how wondrously beautiful
everything seemed to him, and that he had never before seen any
thing so magnificent.

There, under the beautiful tent with the golden tassels, and the
gold-glittering star--there, on a couch, reclined a pale, thin boy,
and at his side, on a chair richly embroidered, sat Tschorbadji
Hassan.

As Mohammed now advanced with elastic step, his head erect, the two
looked at him in admiration.