The consuls have left Cairo, but after a few days the French consul returns secretly to the city, accompanied by the chief secretary of the governor, Courschid Pacha; at night and disguised, they glide stealthily through the streets of Cairo. They repair to the house of Mohammed Ali, and remain there in earnest and eager conversation with the sarechsme throughout the entire night. And again, as on the occasion of a former conference, the consul takes his departure before the dawn of day.
The governor's secretary remains with Mohammed. He still has a document to present to him, and Mohammed's eyes sparkle as he reads it.
"I have but one further request to make of his excellency.""What is it, sarechsme? I am instructed to comply with your wishes in all things.""I only wish to read the firman to Cousrouf myself.""Let it be as you desire, sarechsme. If you ask this as a reward for your faithful services, it is a petty one indeed; you are, however, I believe, soon to receive a much greater one. When Courschid enters Cairo, he will appoint you a pacha of two tails."Mohammed hastily averted his face, and made no reply. No one should see that the intelligence made him rejoice.
The fruit is ripe and ready to fall; the time for action has come.
On the following morning, a body of soldiers marches out and surrounds the quarter of the city in which the Mameluke beys reside.
Bardissi and Ismail have both left the citadel, and now dwell in the city. There they can live more comfortably and conveniently than up in the citadel; and the Mameluke beys are in the habit of attaching more importance to their comfort than the rest of the world. The quarter in which they reside is completely surrounded by soldiers.
They do not notice it, however; these grand gentlemen are taking their ease in their palaces.
Bardissi is in his harem. He has consoled himself for Sitta Nefysseh's cruelty and coldness; the beautiful Georgian and Circassian slaves that throng his harem well know how to make him forget the past with their songs and dances, their sweet words and soft looks.
There he lies on his cushions, gazing dreamily at their dancing.
Suddenly a shot is heard, then a second follows, and a ball strikes the wall of his house.
Bardissi bounds from his cushions, and the dance is at an end. He rushes out into the court-yard to learn the cause of the firing. The street and square are filled with soldiers, and on the opposite side of the square, in front of the arsenal, whole batteries are in position, as though a battle were to be fought.
"What does this mean? Who has led these troops against us? Are those not Albanians and Armenians?"A loud, a fearful cry resounds from Bardissi's lips: "Those are Mohammed Ali's troops, and it is he who is leading them against us.
It is he who has planned my destruction. Then let us also prepare for battle ourselves. They shall see that Bardissi is not so easily trapped. Let us defend ourselves in this house as in a fortress.
Close all the doors and gates. Quick, ye soldiers, prepare for battle ! Ye cannoneers, do your duty!"He calls to the cannoneers who stand by the guns crowning the wall that surrounds his house. But the cannoneers refuse to obey him.
Another loud cry escapes Bardissi's lips. Now he understands Mohammed's action, and knows why the troops were relieved, others sent to his palace a few days before, and why a new body-guard had been assigned him.
These are Mohammed's men, and they now refuse obedience to Bardissi.
He now comprehends Mohammed's whole scheme, and his heart is filled with anguish and immeasurable wrath.
"Alas! Nothing is left me but to flee. Come, my Mamelukes. Load the dromedaries with the treasure; let the women enter the carriages.
Quick, we must act with the speed of lightning. You, my faithful Youssouf, you will stand by me as you stood by Mourad.""I will fight beside you while life lasts."All is now activity. The dromedaries are laden with treasure, with chests of gold and silver coins, with jewelry, Persian carpets, furs, and silken garments. The women enter the closed carriages; the eunuchs take their place beside them. Now Bardissi mounts his war-horse, beside him his best and truest friend, Youssouf, and many others of his faithful followers.
The Mamelukes now throw open the gates, and with uplifted swords, ready for the conflict, sally forth from the court-yard.
The soldiers who have surrounded the palace see with wonder the gates open, Bardissi and his followers as they rush forth, the heavily-laden dromedaries, and the carriages filled with women. The conflict begins, a fierce conflict, the musketry rattles, and carries death into the ranks of both.
Erect on his war-horse Bardissi leads the van. He fights his way through, his sword mows down the enemy like the scythe of death.
Youssouf, his faithful kachef, rides beside him. Like Bardissi, he fights like a lion, and hews with his trusty sword a pathway through the enemy's ranks. But suddenly a well-aimed ball strikes him, he reels in his saddle, and falls with a low moan to the earth, while Bardissi and his men press on.
He succeeds in fighting his way out of the city. Onward the whole train flies toward Gheezeh.
Bardissi is wounded; his right hand bleeds, and blood is streaming down his cheeks. Bardissi is wounded, yet he lives, and is saved. On they press, and now they are no longer followed.
The soldiers have still much to do in Cairo. Let Bardissi flee with his richly-laden dromedaries; let him depart from Cairo with his Mamelukes; but let him return no more.
He draws rein now that the city is behind him; he looks back, and a tear trickles down his cheek and mingles with his blood.
For whom was this tear?
