The victors have decided to send Cousrouf a prisoner to Cairo, to the citadel where he once sat enthroned.
Mohammed entered the apartment in a half-burned house of Damietta in which Cousrouf was confined. None else is in the room. Without, the sentinel is pacing to and fro, and in an adjoining room lie two Nubian slaves who have remained faithful to their master, wounded and exhausted by loss of blood.
Cousrouf sees Mohammed enter, and a groan escapes his breast;involuntarily he carries his hand to his belt. He is unarmed! He cannot hurl himself upon him, and in his downfall destroy him also.
Mohammed stands before him, armed, his eyes fixed on him in a hard, cruel gaze. Cousrouf feels this, glance, and knows that his enemy rejoices in his humiliation. For a long time no word is spoken. At last Cousrouf raises his eyes and endeavors to look his enemy in the face; but he cannot. So terrible, so threatening is his expression, that Cousrouf shudders. It seems to him at this moment that an avenging angel stands before him; and the viceroy, usually so haughty and overbearing, feels humiliated and helpless.
"Cousrouf Pacha," said Mohammed, after a long pause, "look at me! Ihave long worn a mask; you placed it on my countenance, and Iallowed you to do so, and awaited my time. Cousrouf Pacha, raise your eyes and look at me! I no longer wear a mask!"Cousrouf looked up at him, and now his glance was firm, and his countenance composed.
" I see, Mohammed Ali, sarechsme by my grace, I see that you now wear a mask. He who now stands before me is hardly a human being, but the mere embodiment of hatred--envy and hatred personified.""You mistake, Cousrouf," replied Mohammed in haughty tones. "Not envy and hatred, but vengeance personified. Cousrouf, I have awaited this hour for thirteen years. Am I not to enjoy it now? Do you think I would relinquish it for all the wealth and power of the world?""I know you would not," replied Cousrouf, quietly. "Yet you would give all these thirteen years of falsehood and trickery, of cunning flattery; yes, you would give the miserable triumph of this hour for a single smile of the slave to whom I awarded merited punishment.
Ah, Mohammed Ali, you fancied yourself the victor. I am he! This your thirst for vengeance proclaims. It tells me that the wound in your heart still burns. And who gave you this wound? I, Cousrouf Pacha, and therefore do you seek vengeance on me. The wound still bleeds, and I am triumphant! Yes, I am the victor. You should see your own countenance at this moment; now, you are not vengeance and hatred, but misery, personified. Let me in conclusion proclaim this:
Masa is dead, and I slew Masa. Slay me, her murderer. But dying, Ishall cry exultingly: 'Your wound still bleeds, and I am victor!
Masa is dead, here stands her slayer, slay him!'"For a moment Mohammed was silent; a deathly pallor had overspread his countenance, and his eyes gleamed fiercely. He grasped the dagger in his girdle, drew it from its sheath, and raised it high in his right hand.
Cousrouf gazed at him with a triumphant expression.
He wished for death, he longed for it after his fearful overthrow.
Perhaps Mohammed read this in his glance. His arm sank slowly to his side, and he replaced the dagger in its sheath.
"Cousrouf Pacha, you desire death, but you shall not die. You shall live to learn that the wound in my heart no longer bleeds; that it is healed. If it were not so, by Allah, you, the murderer of Masa, were already dead! Do you hear me? I pronounce the name I have not spoken for many years the name Masa! You were her murderer, not her judge! You were not her master, she was not your slave. Her death was not lawful; you could not condemn her, and therefore do I call you a common murderer. I know that murderers are slain, that blood is atoned for by blood. This punishment the heart dictates, and this punishment the law of the land prescribes. But this punishment were too mild for you, Cousrouf Pacha. I will not slay you; you shall suffer shame and humiliation; you shall drink the cup of bitterness and disgrace to the very dregs. I will take you to Cairo, and there in the citadel you shall await my last act of revenge.""You threaten me," said Cousrouf, quietly." What evil can you add to that already inflicted? I do not fear your threat, and I shall not feel humiliated at being led a prisoner into the citadel, where Ionce ruled your master, and where Mohammed Ali, the sarechsme by my grace, so often knelt in the dust before me. I have been vanquished in honorable warfare, and in a just cause; and though you, the victor, triumph over, I shall still remain, your lawful master!""Prove this to the people of Cairo; see whether you will be recognized as master there; whether those who formerly flattered you will now raise a finger to liberate you, or restore you to the throne. And when you find that they will not, then remember, Cousrouf Pacha--that, too, is a part of Mohammed Ali's revenge--had I slain you, all your sufferings would have been at an end! But you shall live and suffer for many a long year to come! For Cousrouf Pacha caused Mohammed Ali to suffer for long years. Then suffer, Cousrouf; and, let me tell you, from this hour I shall suffer no longer--from this hour my wounds are healed, for your wounds bleed.
And now go to Cairo humiliated, covered with disgrace, the prisoner of Mohammed Ali!"
