“As you will,” said Hassan, playing indifference. “But I would have the goods as soon as possible. My eyes have perceived certain rascals in the garb of the Bedawi prowling near the castle and whispering with you soldiers. Now, I adjure you, face the matter! View it fairly with clean eyes! Are we not—my men and I—loyal servants of the Sultàn appointed from of old to guard the Eastern portals of this land, and so entitled to arms and ammunition like you others? As for the Bedû, what are they? Marauders, thieves, murderers—Allah knows them! It were a crime to give them the preference!” The soldiers exchanged sly glances, swift as sword thrusts. Said one of them, cringing, “What sayest thou, O Excellency? The Bedû!... Allah pity! What Bedû?” “Perchance,” thrust in the other with an air of extreme candor, “our good lord would allude to certain tribesmen who, calling themselves Catholics, are come up to fight at the feast.” Hassan laughed. “Think not I trust you. Remember only that, in the place where I dwell, it is counted death to offend Hassan Agha.... And now, unless your desire is changed, we will show you the saint of whom we talked but now.” “With joy and alacrity,” replied the soldiers. All, rising, kicked back their stools. They smiled one to another, showing white teeth, as they yawned and stretched themselves. Hassan told some small gleaming coins into the grimed hand of the taverner, thrust out in anticipation from the inner gloom. Suddenly, with a muttered exclamation not of blessing, the soldiers dodged behind the stone doorpost. The hindmost, upsetting a stool, cursed its religion as it fell. In the covered way without, they had seen a young officer riding upon a black horse, slowly, because of the crowd. It was Abd-ur-Rahman Bey. Hassan Agha stood forward with a jaunty air, a hand on his white mustache. “Hail, O sun of soldiery! May thy day be happy, O child of a blessed birth! Deign to dismount and drink one cup of coffee with him who first taught thee to handle sword and gun!” His design in thus shouting before the multitude was simply to vex the false pride of the son of Shems-ud-dìn. It amazed him to have his salutation returned twofold, to see the proud youth alight and give his horse to a bystander. “How is thy health, O Hassan, light of my eyes?” inquired Abd-ur-Rahman, smiling, as they touched hands. “And thou, O Shibli: is all well with thee?... How is Alia? How the dear old man?” He chose for seat one of those stools which the soldiers had just vacated, next to that which was overturned. Straightway he became aware of a shuffling close at hand, and, looking round the doorpost, beheld two of his own men. “What is this, O Muhammed—O Rashìd?” he asked, smiling. “Is my face this morning so terrible that you must hide from it? Come forth, O foolish ones, and attend me to the castle, whither I go presently.... O Hassan, a word with thee in private, by thy leave!”