In his heart he swears this oath. His lips do not quiver; no feature of his countenance betrays what is passing within. Cousrouf stands still before him, and lays his hand on Mohammed's shoulder. "Look at me, Mohammed!" The latter looks up, and the eyes of both are firmly fixed on each other. The young general divines Cousrouf's thoughts, but the pacha does not divine Mohammed's. "You said that the Mohammed of the days when I resided in Cavalla is dead. Is it true?" "Yes, highness, it is true. He is dead, or he has at least transformed himself into a better man. Yet, highness, he suffered much before he could accomplish this transformation." "That I can readily believe," says Cousrouf, in low tones. "I have often regretted having caused you this misery. Yet you must have become satisfied yourself, young man, that I could not do otherwise. I acted in accordance with the law." "You only acted in accordance with the law," replies Mohammed, in a low voice. "The law ordains that the faithless runaway be punished, and also he with whom she has fled. The captured slave was killed, and it seems to me it was an act of clemency to permit him who loved her to witness her execution without being able to help her. Yes, an act of great clemency. You might have punished me more severely." Again Cousrouf gazes into his countenance searchingly. The tone of his voice is mild and submissive, yet his words bear stings. "I should think, Mohammed, that death itself were preferable to the punishment of being compelled to witness the execution of the beloved without being able to help her. In the years that have since passed, I have often thought that it was cruel, and wished I had not dealt so harshly with you. Does it suffice that I confess this to you? Will you say this to the other--the dead and transformed--and will it console him?" "O master, what magnanimity!" exclaims Mohammed. "You are generous enough to confess that you feel regret at having done justice to that slave?" "I was passionate, and you had excited my wrath," replies the pacha, gently inclining his head. "Not I, highness," says Mohammed, smiling. "Not I, the sarechsme, but that wild, insolent boy, Mohammed, of whom no trace now remains. He is buried in the sea, at the place where the waves closed over Masa. Yet, if that Mohammed still lived and heard what you say, he would bow down in the dust before the great man who condescends to confess that he regrets what he has done. However, should I see that Mohammed, I will tell him of this never-to-be-forgotten magnanimity." "I will give you a souvenir of this hour," says Cousrouf, gently. "I am so happy myself to-day that I desire to see the happy only about me. You are now a general. I should like to see you worthily fitted out for your new dignity. Have you a steed suitable to your rank?" "I am poor, highness, and have nothing but the salary which your highness will bestow on me."