s,
eh? Ah! they are not as foolish as I am. They will not openly profess
that they have come here for your children, as I do, but they will lie
in wait for them when they go to the forest, and when nobody perceives
it they will clap them on the back of a horse and off they'll go with
them, so that nobody will know under what sky to look for them. Or,
perhaps, when you yourself are going along the road with them, they'll
lay a trap for you, shoot you neatly through the head, and bolt with
your children. Well, that will be a pretty thing, won't it? You had
better not throw me over."

The Circassian did not know what to answer--words were precious things
to him--but he thought all the more. While the merchant was speaking
to him, his reflections carried him far. He saw his children in the
detested marble halls, he saw them standing in shamefully gorgeous
garments, waiting upon the smiling despot, who stroked their tender
faces with his hands, and the blood rushed to his face as he saw his
children blush and tremble beneath that smile. Ah, at that thought he
began to lash about him so vigorously with the whip that was in his
hand, that the Greek rolled about on the bear-skin in terror, holding
his hands to his ears.

"Do not crack that whip so loudly, my dear son," said he, "or you'll
drive away all my mules. I really believe your whip is a very good
one, but you need not test it to the uttermost. I thank you for making
it; but now, pray, put it down. I must go. It is a good thing you have
not knocked out one of my eyes. You certainly have a vigorous way of
enjoying yourself. But let us speak sensibly. Do you believe that I am
an honest man, or not?"

At this the Circassian did _not_ nod his head.

"Very well, then. It is natural that you should believe, you ought to
believe it. Since Pausanias there has not been a sharper among my
nation. He was the last faithless Greek, and they walled him up in the
temple. I am a man without guile, as you are well aware. But I am more
than that, more than you suspect. Oho! in this shabby, worn-out caftan
of mine dwells something which you do not dream of. Oho! I know what I
really am. I am on friendly terms with great men, with many great
men, standing high in the empire, whose fame has never reached your
ears. In the palm of this hand I hold Hellas, in the other the realm
of Osman. I shake the whole world when I move. Why do I take all this
trouble? Oh, for the sake of your holy sh