Mizraim's hand touched his forehead, his breast, his lips, and, clasping and unclasping his long, snakelike fingers, he began the story he had come to tell.
"The Inglesi, whom Allah confound, the Effendina hath blackened by a look, his words have smitten him in the vital parts--" "Mizraim, thou dove, speak to the purpose!" Mizraim showed a dark pleasure at the interruption.

Nahoum was impatient, anxious; that made the tale better worth telling.
"Sharif and the discontented ones who dare not act, like the vultures, they flee the living man, but swoop upon the corpse.

The consuls of those countries who love not England or Claridge Pasha, and the holy men, and the Cadi, all scatter smouldering fires.

There is a spirit in the Palace and beyond which is blowing fast to a great flame." "Then, so it is, great one, and what bodes it ?" "It may kill the Inglesi; but it will also sweep thee from the fields of life where thou dost flourish." "It is not against the foreigner, but against the Christian, Mizraim ?" "Thy tongue hath wisdom, Excellency." "Thou art a Muslim--" "Why do I warn thee?
For service done to me; and because there is none other worth serving in Egypt.

Behold, it is my destiny to rule others, to serve thee." "Once more thy turban full of gold, Mizraim, if thou dost service now that hath meaning and is not a belching of wind and words.