“I love your customs!” she replied. “Let it be just as if I were a native bride.”

“No, no,” remarked the Pasha, with a chuckle. “There are many usual ceremonies here in Egypt which are condemned by our religion, strictly speaking. These we shall exclude, preserving only one or two which may amuse you. My son also will modify his life to suit your foreign standards; it is only just; although the life of our own ladies is by no means terrible, as you will find. Tomorrow you shall spend in the haremlik. You will find there many friends. All, all will love you and make glad your heart. And now, with your permission, mademoiselle, I shall retire. Forget not that small letter to the Consul.”

Muhammad Pasha, coming from that interview, was traversing the hall of the selamlik towards his study, when a sudden clamour at the house-door startled him.

“Curse thy father! Wait, I say! Be still a minute!” cried the doorkeeper; while another voice yelled madly, “I must see the Pasha. Where is he? Let me pass, I say! The need is urgent!”