“Because, my lord,” said Haydée eagerly, “my miseries recall to me the remembrance of your goodness.”
Albert looked at her with curiosity, for she had not yet related what he most desired to know—how she had become the slave of the count. Haydée saw at a glance the same expression pervading the countenances of her two auditors; she continued:
“When my mother recovered her senses we were before the seraskier. ‘Kill,’ said she, ‘but spare the honor of the widow of Ali.’—‘It is not to me to whom you must address yourself,’ said Kourchid.
“ ‘To whom, then?’—‘To your new master.’
“ ‘Who and where is he?’—‘He is here.’
“And Kourchid pointed out one who had more than any contributed to the death of my father,” said Haydée, in a tone of chastened anger.
“Then,” said Albert, “you became the property of this man?”
“No,” replied Haydée, “he did not dare to keep us, so we were sold to some slave-merchants who were going to Constantinople. We traversed Greece, and arrived half dead at the imperial gates. They were surrounded by a crowd of people, who opened a way for us to pass, when suddenly my mother, having looked closely at an object which was attracting their attention, uttered a piercing cry and fell to the ground, pointing as she did so to a head which was placed over the gates, and beneath which were inscribed these words:
‘This is the head of Ali Tepelini, Pasha of Yanina.’