“That is a lion, you silly child,” responded the sister. “Did you not know that the abominable tyrant, Yazid, that brute among caliphs, always had a lion near him? If any one incurred his displeasure, he was thrown to the lion, who ate him up. Come, listen, there is Yazid saying to Hussein, ‘Adopt my religion or you shall die!’

  Hussein sneezes, which signifies, — I will not.!

  “That’s not a lion,” pursued the insistent little one; “lions have n’t beaks; it’s a bird.”

  “A bird with a tail on his head! Have you ever seen birds with tails on their heads?”

  “Yes; it’s a top-knot.”

  “It’s a mane.”

  “The child is right,” said a third, entering upon the discussion. “Can you not see that it is a parrot? This parrot was interpreting secretary at Yazid’s court. Do you not see how the caliph caresses him?”

  “Then why does he shout like the devil?”

  “Oh, do keep still, now, parrots of nieces that you are!” said a good Tartar dame weighing one hundred and fifty kilogrammes, and occupying the space of four ordinary people, with whom listening for herself was like listening for a whole society.

  The dispute became general at this juncture. Some continued to maintain that it was a lion, others contended that it was a bird; but Yussef ought to have felt highly flattered that the general opinion held him to be some sort of an animal.

  He, little suspecting the flutter which he heard to be occasioned by his own nose and feathers, was discoursing meanwhile with the tyrant.

  “My king,” he was saying, “the ruler of France, having heard of your conquests, sends me to offer you his friendship.”

  Yazid answered: “Let your king cease to eat pork, let him forbid his allies to eat it, and let him order them to become Mussulmans.”

  “But if his friends refuse?” replied the ambassador.

  “Then let him introduce my system.”

  “Let us see your system,” demanded the ambassador. “Bring me my system,” said Yazid.

  An executioner entered, naked sword in hand.

  Yussef shook his head.

  “What do you mean by that?” demanded Yazid.

  “I mean, great prince, that your system would not succeed in Europe.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it would be impossible to cut off a European’s head as you would an Arab’s.”

  “Impossible?” said Yazid. “You shall see whether it is impossible.”

  And, turning to his guards and the executioner, he commanded, —

  “Take the European ambassador and cut off his head, that he may see that my system is adapted to every country.” — .

  Guards and executioner advanced towards Yussef; but he had so recently taken part in a similar drama with Mullah Nour, that fact and fancy became confused in mind and sight; when he saw the guards about to lay hands on him, he wanted to run away; when he saw the executioner raise his sword, he emitted piercing shrieks. He was arrested when about to leap from the stage into the street, and brought back amid the frantic applause of the multitude, who had never seen terror simulated with such fidelity.

  He was still heard calling Iskander to his rescue long after he had gone behind the scenes.

  But Iskander had quite another affair on hand.

  Iskander had at last got next to Kassime. He could scarcely breathe for joy; his heart was burning; he felt the warmth of Kassime’s cheeks; he inhaled the perfume of her breath.

  What could you expect? He was in love; he was twenty years old; he loved for the first time.

  But he could contain himself no longer when, in shifting her position to be more at her ease, Kassime leaned her hand on his knee.

  “Kassime,” he whispered in her ear, “I must speak with you.”

  And he gently pressed her hand.

  The young girl’s heart and head were full of Iskander; she was hoping to see him at this fête, at which all Derbend was present. She had not come for Yazid’s sake; no caliph’s executioner was occupying her mind.

  Her eyes had searched for Iskander on all sides, but he was nowhere to be seen.

  Imagine, then, her amazement, fancy her joy when she heard in her ear that well-known, that beloved voice!

  She had not the strength to resist.

  Iskander rose; she followed him. He led her to the darkest corner of the roof.

  Those around were so occupied with Yazid that there was nothing to fear.

  Yet Iskander understood that he had no time to lose.

  “Kassime,” said he, “do you know how I love you? do you know how I worship you? You see what I have risked for the sake of seeing you for one moment, for the sake of saying a few words to you. Then consider what I am capable of doing if you say, ‘Iskander, I love you not.’ Yes, or no, Kassime? yes, or no?”

  Iskander’s eyes flashed lightnings through his veil; his left hand pressed Kassime’s waist, his right rested on his pistol. The poor child trembled as she looked about her.

  “Iskander,” said she, “I ask of you but two things, — — do not kill me, do not disgrace me! I would gladly clasp you in my arms as closely as your sword belt; but you know my uncle.”

  Then, urged on in spite of herself, after a moment’s hesitation, she added, —

  “Iskander, I love you!”

  And, like steel to the magnet, her lips were drawn to those of the young man.

  “And now,” said she, “let me go.”

  “So be it; but on one condition, my darling, — that we meet here to-morrow night.”

  Kassime answered nothing; but the word to-morrow was so clearly revealed in the look which she gave her friend at parting, that Iskander took the rendezvous for granted.

  I cannot tell you how Kassime passed the night; but Iskander’s sleep was very sweet.

  There are some sins after which we sleep better than after the best of good works.

  CHAPTER XII.

  ACCUSED AND ACQUITTED.

  Two days after the fête, there was a large meeting in the fortress of Narin Kale, near the commandant’s house.

  Armed noukars held their masters’ horses by the bridle; there were people in the courts, about the fountain, on the stairs; the salon was full of visitors, and these visitors were the leading people of the town. At the entrance door the commandant’s interpreter was eagerly rehearsing something extraordinary, no doubt, for he was listened to and questioned. Elsewhere, they spoke in low tones. The old men shrugged their shoulders; in short, it was easy to see that something strange and out of the common was taking place, or had already taken place.

  “Yes,” said the interpreter, “this is exactly how the thing was done. The brigands made a hole in the wall and entered the room of Soliman Beg. He awoke, but only when one of the robbers was in the act of taking down the arms that hung above his head. Soliman then drew a pistol from under his pillow and fired, but the ball hit no one. Meanwhile, two or three other bandits were binding his wife in a neighboring room. Hearing the shot, they rushed out and came to the aid of the two who were in Soliman’s room. The darkness interfered with the effectiveness of his shots, yet Soliman wounded two or three of the bandits; however, he himself fell dead under four or five dagger-thrusts. The shooting, and the cries of Soliman and his wife, awoke the neighbors; but while they were dressing, lighting their lanterns, and rushing to Soliman’s house, the robbers had broken into his coffers and emptied them, and they were gone without having been seen, and, consequently, without a single one’s having been identified.”

  “So not one of the knaves has been arrested?” demanded a new-comer.

  “No; and yet it is believed that an accomplice is caught.”

  “An accomplice?”

  “Yes; he had been stationed as a watch; he had a rope around him, for the purpose no doubt of aiding his comrades in scaling the wall. He carried a pistol and a dagger in his belt; but it must be admitted that, as a beg, he had a right to carry arms.”

  “What! a beg? But it is impossible that a beg should be an accomplice of thieves!” cried several voices at once.

  “And why is it impossible?” replied a mirza, casting around him the scoffing glance so much affected by Tartar youths.

  “Yes; but this one is really a beg belonging to one of the best families in Derbend, and you will indeed be astonished when I tell you his name. It is Iskander Ben Kalfasi Ogli. Wait, at this very moment the commandant is reading the report of the chief of police, and you will presently see Iskander; an order has been given to bring him here.”

  In fact, the news astonished everybody. Iskander was greatly pitied. How could a young man whose conduct was so irreproachable, who had been chosen to bring the snow from Schach Dagh, be the accomplice of such bandits?

  The commandant’s entrance put a stop to all discussion, and a profound silence was established. He was one of those men who thoroughly understand the Asiatic character. lie was discriminately affable, the better to make his affability appreciated, severe without the rudeness that envenoms justice, even when she is just, lie entered the salon in full uniform.

  All the by-standers saluted him, placing their hands over their hearts and letting them fall to the knee.

  The commandant bowed to all, and spoke briefly on current matters. Some he gently eluded for inefficient service; others he thanked for having performed their duties conscientiously; he pressed the hands of some of the Derbend freeholders, — there are freeholders everywhere, — and invited two of them to dine with him the next day.

  Then, addressing himself to all, he said, — “Gentlemen begs, I suppose you all know what took place last night. I have every reason to think it an enterprise of our friends the mountaineers, and not the deed of residents of Derbend. I entreat you all to do your utmost to capture the thieves and bring them before me. Well,” he added, turning to the mirza, “has the mullah questioned Iskander? In that case, what has the beg to say?”

  “Iskander naturally replies that he is as innocent as a new-born babe of this whole affair. lie says that lie carried the rope to get outside of the city for a walk, and climb back again whenever he pleased, because, he asserts, the air of the city is stifling. As to his arms, he gave no other explanation than this: ‘As a beg, I have a right to carry them.’ “

  9

  “A singular walk, that,” said the commandant, “with a rope around the loins! and yet I must say the whole of Iskander’s past conduct is a protest against the crime of which he is accused. I wish to see and question him myself; bring him in.”

  Iskander Beg entered, his papak on his head, according to the Asiatic custom; he bowed respectfully to the commandant, haughtily to the people, and waited in the place assigned to him.

  The commandant regarded him coldly. At the thought of being an object of suspicion, the young beg could not help blushing; but his eye was steady and clear.

  “I little suspected, Iskander,” said the commandant, “that I should ever see you brought before me as a criminal.”

  “It is not crime, but fate, that brings me here,” replied Iskander.

  “Do you know the consequences of the crime of which you are accused?”

  “Only here have I learned of my supposed crime. I acknowledge my imprudence; appearances are against me, I am aware; but guilty? God knows I am not!”

  “Unfortunately, Iskander,” returned the commandant, “men must be governed by appearances, and until your innocence is proved, you are in the hands of justice. However, if there is any one here who will answer for you, I will consent to your going at liberty.”

  Iskander cast a questioning glance around; but no one offered to become his surety.

  “What!” said the commandant, “not one?”

  “At your pleasure, commandant,” replied the bystanders, bowing.

  “Well, I will answer for him myself, and be his w bondsman,” said Hadji Yussef, coming forward.

  The commandant smiled; the lookers-on laughed aloud; but the commandant frowned, and the faces grew long.

  “Truly, I am astonished, gentlemen,” said the commandant, “that you, who so readily give bail for the greatest rascals to be found in our city, for wretches who have twenty times fled to the mountains after you have gone on their bonds, should hesitate to do as much for a young man whom, eight days ago, you recognized as the purest and most upright among you. His good reputation will not save him from chastisement; on the contrary, if he is guilty, he shall be severely punished. But until he is convicted, he is your compeer, and his exemplary life should be respected. Go home, Iskander; if you had not found security, I should have served you myself.”

  The commandant saluted the assembly and set off for the mosque.

  The young beg went home, his eyes dimmed with tears of gratitude.

  The morning sun gilded the porch of the mosque of Derbend. The old men were warming themselves in its vivifying rays as they talked of bygone days; two or three beggars had halted at the entrance of the court.

  A few steps farther on, a wayfarer was sleeping under his bourka; not far from the traveller sat Mullah Sédek on his rug.

  The holy man was ready to leave Derbend the next morning, and was reckoning up from memory all the small profits by which his journey had enriched him. While mentally recalling the trifling items, he was eating a sort of pastry which he dipped into a dish of garlic and milk. From time to time he plunged his reed pen into a wooden ink-bottle, and wrote a few words on a little scrap of paper that he had beside him. It was curious to note with What appetite the holy man ate his breakfast, and with what pleasure he footed up his accounts.

  He was so deeply engrossed in this twofold enjoyment that he did not see a poor Lesghian before him begging for alms. The wretch was asking for a kopeck in such pitiful accents that it was truly a crime to deny him.

  Mullah Sédek finally heard the sort of litany that the poor devil was chanting; he raised his eyes, but almost as quickly lowered them again to his accounts.

  “For three days I have had nothing to eat, master,” the Lesghian was saying, as he held out his hand.

  “Ten, twenty-five, fifty, one hundred,” counted Mullah Sédek.

  “A kopeck will save my life and open the gates of Paradise to you.”

  “One hundred, five hundred, one thousand,” continued Mullah Sédek.

  “You are a mullah,” persisted the Lesghian; “recall what the Koran says: ‘The first duty of a Mussulman is charity.’”

  Mullah Sédek lost his patience.

  “Go to the devil!” he angrily exclaimed. “Was it for wretches like you that Allah invented charity? You have sticks in the town and herbs in the fields. When you are strong enough, you rob; otherwise, you ask alms, and they are no sooner given than you laugh at the fool that gave. You will get nothing from me; I am a poor traveller, too, and all that I had has been taken away by your brigand of a Mullah Nour.”

  The wayfarer lying under his bourka, who had not said a word until then, quietly raised himself, and stroking his beard with his hand, he politely demanded of Mullah Sédek, —

  “Has Mullah Nour been so cruel as to leave you absolutely without money, — a holy man like you? Yet I have heard it said that Mullah Nour is a conscientious man, and that he rarely takes more than two roubles from one traveller.”

  “Two roubles! that rapacious Mullah Nour! Trust yourself in his hands and you will be very lucky if he does not pick out your two eyes. Would that he might be struck down by the destroying angel, and boil throughout all eternity in the gold that he took from me, even if I had to melt the gold myself. Did he not take even my aba of camel’s-hair?”

  “That is true,” said the old men. “Mullah Sédek came to us without an aba and with only his mantle; we have done our best to reclothe him. Curses on this Mullah Nour!”

  The wayfarer with the bourka arose smiling, and drawing a piece of gold from his pocket he held it out to the Lesghian, saying, —

  “Curse Mullah Nour as these honest men have just done, and this tchervonies is yours.”

  The Lesghian at first extended his hand; but almost instantly withdrew it, shaking his head, and replied, —

  “Xo, Mullah Nour has helped my brother in misfortune, — he gave him a hundred roubles; on ten occasions he has aided my compatriots. I do not know his face, but I know his heart. Keep your gold, I will not curse Mullah Nour. I sell neither my benedictions nor my maledictions.”

  The wayfarer regarded the beggar with astonishment, and Mullah Sédek with scorn.

  Then, drawing out four other gold pieces, which he added to the first, he gave them all five to the poor Lesghian.

  Thereupon, resting one hand on Mullah Sédek’s shoulder, and pointing with the other above his head, he said, —

  “In heaven there is a God of truth, and on earth are some good men.”

  After which, picking up his bourka, he threw it over his shoulder, mounted his horse, which had been tied to the mosque wall, and slowly descended to the bazaar.

  Then, having crossed the bazaar, always at a walk, he entered the street in which was to be found the house of the chief of police.

  This official was at his door, surrounded by several persons to whom he was doling out justice; he was already old, but so black did he keep his beard that he was himself deluded as to his age, and fancied that he was at least ten years younger than he was. His tchourka was trimmed with lace, no more nor less than that of a man of fashion, and, as a much livelier reminder of his youth, he still had four wives and three mistresses, and drank several bottles of wine every evening. In short, had he not worn spectacles, had he not been as wrinkled as an old apple, had he not had a paunch like a pumpkin, one might have believed, after what he himself had said, in the youth of this most worthy man.

  That day his Excellency was in a bad humor; he was in a rage with everybody, and quarrelled even with the passers-by. — .

  It was in this state of mind that he saw a traveller dismount from his horse and approach him.

  “Salaam Aleikoum, Mouzaram Beg!” was the wayfarer’s greeting.