"Take these sons of flat-nosed mothers back to their cells. I will deal with them later." The court dispersed. The lords and ministers escorted the sultan to his apartments. The brazen doors closed softly behind him, so that they did not see him hurl his turban to the floor, did not hear his simitar clang against the tiles, rebound, and clatter into a corner. Nor did they hear the Resident, materialized at the height of the storm, expostulate: "But, your Majesty, you may have them hanged, you know--have all of them hanged, in public--roll of drums and all that. But one simply can't have these dismemberings and impalings, you know. Barbarous, and uncivilized, and all that." Then the sultan, as he twice struck together his hands: "Amru, an order: release the rebels! And to each, his own horse and a robe of honor!" The Resident endured the sultan's eye for a full moment, and admirably concealed his alarm. Then he left the Presence, conscious of duty well done, even if in the shadow of a bowstring with a running noose: enraged princes do forget themselves, and the sanctity of Residents. But Schamas ad Din issued no further orders. He and his nargileh fumed and bubbled on the flat roof of the palace.... Then the calm voice of Ismeddin: "A thousand years, _saidi_." "And to you, a thousand," returned the sultan, as he rose to greet his old friend. The darvish declined the honor of sharing the sultan's seat. "Hard rocks are my cushions, _saidi_," he protested, as he squatted, cross-legged, at the sultan's feet. But he accepted the stem of the nargileh and solemnly inhaled its white fumes. Amru set out fresh wine and withdrew; for that grimy wanderer from the mountains was closer to the sultan even than an old and trusted wazir. "I summoned you last night to help me devise a quiet and effective way of dealing with my brother's son. Need I say that since Maksoud is a friend of the Resident, I need help?" "Therefore," replied the darvish, "you put me to the trouble of stealing by night through the lines of the mountaineers." Then, smiling a crooked smile, he continued, "And I am an old man, _saidi_----" "And I," retorted the sultan, "am by this day's work an old woman! That dog of an infidel! That friend of the rebels! The white-haired companions of the Old Tiger pity the mockery that his son has become." "It is indeed vain in these evil days to be a king," observed Ismeddin. "Yet even a sultan should have his vengeance. And even Residents have their limitations." Ismeddin smiled thinly, and fingered the hilt of the Ladder to Heaven. "It is beyond any sword, Ismeddin," mourned the sultan. "In the old days one rode out of the mountains with a troop of horse. But now a Resident stands behind my throne. Look what has happened to my old enemy the Rajah of Lacra-kai, on whom be peace!"