"Life is beautiful and so difficult--to save," observed Nahoum, in a tone meant to tempt David on one hand and to reach the ears of the notorious Achmet Pasha, whose extortions, cruelties, and taxations had built his master's palaces, bribed his harem, given him money to pay the interest on his European loans, and made himself the richest man in Egypt, whose spies were everywhere, whose shadow was across every man's path. Kaid might slay, might toss a pasha or a slave into the Nile now and then, might invite a Bey to visit him, and stroke his beard and call him brother and put diamond-dust in the coffee he drank, so that he died before two suns came and went again, "of inflammation and a natural death"; but he, Achmet Pasha, was the dark Inquisitor who tortured every day, for whose death all men prayed, and whom some would have slain, but that another worse than himself might succeed him. At Nahoum's words the dusky brown of Achmet's face turned as black as the sudden dilation of the pupil of an eye deepens its hue, and he said with a guttural accent: "Every man hath a time to die." "But not his own time," answered Nahoum maliciously. "It would appear that in Egypt he hath not always the choice of the fashion or the time," remarked David calmly. He had read the malice behind their words, and there had flashed into his own mind tales told him, with every circumstance of accuracy, of deaths within and without the Palace. Also he was now aware that Nahoum had mocked him. He was concerned to make it clear that he was not wholly beguiled. "Is there, then, for a man choice of fashion or time in England, effendi?" asked Nahoum, with assumed innocence. "In England it is a matter between the Giver and Taker of life and himself--save where murder does its work," said David. "And here it is between man and man--is it that you would say?" asked Nahoum. "There seem wider privileges here," answered David drily. "Accidents will happen, privileges or no," rejoined Nahoum, with lowering eyelids. The Prince intervened. "Thy own faith forbids the sword, forbids war, or--punishment." "The Prophet I follow was called the Prince of Peace, friend," answered David, bowing gravely across the table. "Hast thou never killed a man?" asked Kaid, with interest in his eyes. He asked the question as a man might ask another if he had never visited Paris. "Never, by the goodness of God, never," answered David. "Neither in punishment nor in battle?" "I am neither judge nor soldier, friend." "Inshallah, thou hast yet far to go! Thou art young yet. Who can tell?" "I have never so far to go as that, friend," said David, in a voice that rang a little. "To-morrow is no man's gift."