"My table is not despicable. Is he not comfortable here?"

"Is a mud floor, with bread and water and a sleeping-mat, comfortable?"

"He is lodged like a friend."

"He is lodged like a slave--in a cell."

"They were not my orders."

"Effendina, the orders were mine."

"Excellency!"

"Because there were no orders and Foulik Pasha was sleepless with anxiety
lest the prisoner should escape, fearing your Highness's anger, I gave
orders and trusted your Highness to approve."

Ismail saw a mystery in the words, and knew that it was all to be part of
Dicky's argument in the end. "So be it, Excellency," he said, "thou hast
breathed the air of knowledge, thine actions shine. In what quarter of
the palace rests he? And Foulik Pasha?"

"Foulik Pasha sits by his door, and the room is by the doorway where the
sarrafs keep the accounts for the palaces your Highness builds. Also,
abides near, the Greek, who toils upon the usury paid by your Highness
to Europe."

Ismail smiled. The allusions were subtle and piercing. There was a
short pause. Each was waiting. Dicky changed the attack. "It is a pity