, Sanda
Pasha will find 'e 'as made a most hegragious mistake of some sort.
'Owever that's _'is_ business, not mine."

Having comforted himself with this final reflection on the culminating
event of the day, he sat down to the mother-of-pearl table and did full
justice to the Pasha's hospitality by consuming the greater part of the
viands thereon, consisting largely of fruits, and drinking the wine with
critical satisfaction.

Next morning he was awakened by his black friend of the previous night,
who spread on the mother-of-pearl table a breakfast which in its
elegance appeared to be light, but which on close examination turned
out, like many light things in this world, to be sufficiently
substantial for an ordinary man.

Lancey now expected to be introduced to the Pasha, but he was mistaken.
No one came near him again till the afternoon, when the black slave
reappeared with a substantial dinner. The Pasha was busy, he said, and
would see him in the evening. The time might have hung heavily on the
poor man's hands, but, close to the apartment in which he was confined
there was a small marble court, open to the sky, in which were
richly-scented flowers and rare plants and fountains which leaped or
trickled into tanks filled with gold-fish. In the midst of these things
he sat or sauntered dreamily until the shades of evening fell. Then the
black slave returned and beckoned him to follow.

He did so and was ushered into a delicious little boudoir, whose
windows, not larger than a foot square, were filled with pink, blue, and
yellow glass. Here, the door being softly shut behind him, Lancey found
himself in the presence of the red-bearded officer whom he had met on
board the Turkish monitor.

Redbeard, as Lancey called him, mentally, reclined on a couch and smoked
a chibouk.

"Come here," he said gravely, in broken English. Lancey advanced into
the middle of the apartment. "It vas you what blew'd up de monitor," he
said sternly, sending a thick cloud of smoke from his lips.

"No, your--." Lancey paused. He knew not how to address his
questioner, but, feeling that some term of respect was necessary, he
coined a word for the occasion--

"No, your Pashaship, I did nothink of the sort. I'm as hinnocent of
that ewent as a new-born babe."

"Vat is your name?"

"Lancey."

"Ha! your oder name."

"Jacob."

"Ho! _My_ name is Sanda Pasha. You have hear of me before?"

"Yes, on board the Turkish monitor