Bruce was again sent for by the sheikh. He was in the alcove of a spacious room, sitting on a sofa surrounded by curtains. After he had taken two whiffs of his pipe, and when the slave had left the room, "Are you prepared?" he said; "have you brought the money along with you?" Bruce replied, "My servants are at the outer door, and have the vomit you wanted." "Curse you and the vomit too," says he, with great passion: "I want money, and not poison. Where are your piastres?" "I am a bad person," replied Bruce, "Fidele, to furnish you with either. I have neither money nor poison; but I advise you to drink a little warm water to clear your stomach, cool your head, and then lie down and compose yourself; I will see you to-morrow morning." Bruce was going out, when the sheikh exclaimed, "Hakim, infidel, or devil, or whatever is your name, hearken to what I say. Consider where you are: this is the room where Mek Baady, a king, was slain by the hand of my father: look at his blood, where it has stained the floor, which never could be washed out. I am informed you have twenty thousand piastres in gold with you; either give me two thousand before you go out of this chamber, or you shall die; I will put you to death with my own hand." Upon this he took up his sword that was lying at the head of his sofa, and, drawing it with a bravado, threw the scabbard into the middle of the room; and, tucking the sleeve of his shirt above his elbow, like a butcher, he said, "I wait your answer." Bruce stepped one pace backward, and dropped the burnoose behind him, holding a small blunderbuss in his hand, without taking it off the belt. In a firm tone of voice he replied, "This is my answer: I am not a man, as I have told you before, to die like a beast by the hand of a drunkard; on your life, I charge you, stir not from your sofa." "I had no need," says Bruce, "to give this injunction; he heard the noise which the closing the joint in the stock of the blunderbuss made, and thought I had cocked it, and was instantly to fire. He let his sword drop, and threw himself on his back on the sofa, crying, 'For God's sake, Hakim, I was but jesting.'" In all climates and under all circumstances, the bully is always a coward. Bruce, however, was only acting on the defensive; it was neither his intention nor his wish to triumph over the sheikh, and he therefore most willingly accepted the explanation and retired, calmly wishing his enemy good-night.