prise; he evidently forgot himself and his company, and when,
although unintelligible to him, the song proceeded in more touching
strains, his capacious chest began to heave and his eyes filled with
tears. The applause, not only of the host, but the company, was loud
and emphatic, and Lancey was constrained to sing again. After that the
colonel sang a Turkish war-song. The colonel's voice was a tremendous
bass, and he sang with such enthusiasm that the hearers were effectively
stirred. Hamed, in particular, became wild with excitement. He
half-suited his motions, while beating time, to the action of each
verse, and when, as a climax in the last verse, the colonel gave the
order to "charge!" Hamed uttered a roar, sprang up, seized his great
sabre, and caused it to whistle over his friends with a sweep that might
have severed the head of an elephant!

At this point, one of the attendants, who appeared to be newly appointed
to his duties, and who had, more than once during the feast, attracted
attention by his stupidity, shrank in some alarm from the side of his
wild master and tumbled over a cushion.

Hamed glared at him for a moment, with a frown that was obviously not
put on, and half-raised the sabre as if about to cut him down.
Instantly the frown changed to a look of contempt, and almost as quickly
was replaced by a gleam of fun.

"Stand forth," said Hamed, dropping the sabre and sitting down.

The man obeyed with prompt anxiety.

"Your name?"

"Mustapha."

"Mustapha," repeated the Pasha, "I observe that you are a capable young
fellow. You are a man of weight, as the marble floor can testify. I
appoint you to the office of head steward. Go, stand up by the door."

The man made a low obeisance and went.

"Let the household servants and slaves pass before their new superior
and do him honour."

With promptitude, and with a gravity that was intensely ludicrous--for
none dared to smile in the presence of Hamed Pasha--the servants of the
establishment, having been summoned, filed before the new steward and
bowed to him. This ceremony over, Mustapha was ordered to go and make a
list of the poultry. The poor man was here obliged to confess that he
could not write.

"You can draw?" demanded the Pasha fiercely.

With some hesitation the steward admitted that he could--"a little."

"Go then, draw the poultry, every cock and hen and chicken," said the
Pasha, with a wave of his hand which dismissed the