“One thing.” He dropped his voice to a stage whisper. “In the frenzy of her love she asks to be of our religion. She has made an oath of her conversion before witnesses. (The Consul swore.) But have no care. We will forget it, if”⁠—the Pasha laid great stress on the condition, and for once looked boldly in the other’s eyes⁠—“if, after consultation with you, she should wish to recant.”

“But you say that there are witnesses to her conversion,” cried the Frank, with bitterness. “I fail to see how it can be forgotten. There would be a riot.”

“The witnesses are of my house,” rejoined the Pasha suavely. “My command is guarantee of their discretion.”

“Send her to me!” The final words were uttered from tight lips beneath a formidable frown, as the Consul flung the door wide open for the Turk’s departure.