"Well," said the pacha, rising, "there was too much love, and too little sea in it; but, I suppose, if you had left the first out it would not have been so long. Mustapha, give him five pieces of gold, and we will have his Second Voyage to-morrow." As soon as the pacha had retired, the renegade growled out, "If I am to tell any more stories, I must not be checked and dictated to. I could have talked for an hour after I had met Cerise, if I had not been interrupted: as it was I cut the matter short." "But, Selim," replied Mustapha, "the pacha is not fond of these sort of adventures: he likes something much more marvellous. Could you not embellish a little?" "How do you mean?" "Holy Prophet! what do I mean!--Why, tell a few lies,--not adhere quite so much to matter of fact." "Adhere to matter of fact, vizier!--why, I have not stated a single fact yet!" "What! is not all this true?" "Not one word of it, as I hope to go to Heaven!" "Bismillah!--what not about Marie and the convent--and Cerise?" "All lies from beginning to end." "And were you never a barber?" "Never in my life." "Then why did you make such long apostrophes to the dead Cerise, when you observed that the pacha was impatient?" "Merely because I was at fault, vizier, and wished to gain time, to consider what I should say next." "Selim," replied Mustapha, "you have great talent; but mind that your next voyage is more wonderful; I presume it will make no difference to you." "None whatever; but the pacha is not a man of taste. Now give me my five pieces, and I'll be off: I'm choked with thirst, and shall not be comfortable till I have drunk at least a gallon of wine." "Holy Prophet! what a Turk!" exclaimed the vizier; lifting up his hands. "Here is your money, kafir;--don't forget to be here to-morrow." "Never fear me, vizier; your slave lives but to obey you, we Turks say." "We Turks!" muttered the vizier, as he cast his eyes upon the retiring figure of the renegade. "Well of all the scoundrels--" "Well," muttered the renegade, who was now out of hearing, "of all the scoundrels--" Whom they were referring to in their separate soliloquies must be left to the reader's imagination; for caution prevented either of the parties from giving vent to the remainder of their thoughts. VOLUME ONE, CHAPTER SIX. "Mashallah! How wonderful is God! Did the caliph Haroun ever hear such stories?" observed the pacha, taking the pipe from his mouth, as he was indulging in company with Mustapha: "that infidel tells strange histories of strange countries--What will his mouth open to next?" "The Shaitan bacheh, for a son of the devil he still is, although he wears the turban and bows to Allah, will prove a treasury of amusement to your sublime highness," replied Mustapha: "but what are the words of the sage?--`If thou hast gold in thy hazneh, keep it locked, and add thereto; thus shalt thou become rich.'" "They are the words of wisdom," replied the pacha.