“Deign but to hear my counsel! Give a hundred and ask leave for thy son to join the army. He is prostrated by thy late refusal. His going will prove more than any gift of money that thy heart is with the cause⁠—which, Allah knows, may be the right one, since our lord has chosen to put trust in infidels. His mother even wishes it, to heal his chagrin. She sent for me and asked me to entreat your Excellency. We have good friends within the army who will see that he is kept from fighting. My son shall go along with him, to be his servant.”

Ghandûr, the simple creature, was in tears.

“By Allah, I will think about it,” murmured Yûsuf.

Five minutes later he repaired to his son’s room, revived the lad, and passing thence to the haremlik, told Barakah that her request was granted. She was half stunned, for she had counted on his obduracy.

Not noticing her dazed condition, for his mind ran still on puzzles of diplomacy, he added: