"To-morrow? Why trouble yourself about to-morrow? I will endeavor to keep the soldiers quiet for a few days, and, in the meanwhile, we will devise new plans for raising money. I know of one means that I have often thought of."

"Name it, my friend!"

"It is dangerous."

"Name it, nevertheless. No matter about the danger, provided I raise money."

"Well, then," said Mohammed, deliberately, "it seems unjust to me that our people should bear the burden of taxation alone! Why should not a tax be imposed on the Franks and Levantines also?"

"On the foreigner?" said Bardissi, with a start. "That has never been done, that I am aware of."

"Then let it be done now for the first time. They have been allowed to accumulate wealth here, without bearing any of the burdens of government."

"You are right: it should be done. My defterdar shall take the necessary steps at once. The Levantines and Franks shall be made to pay this very day, and your soldiers shall have the money."

Bardissi hastily departed to give the necessary instructions.

Mohammed Ali returned slowly to his house, a complacent smile on his countenance. "Only continue in your present course, and you will soon fall into the pit I have dug for you and yours. Proceed! Your new tax will create quite a sensation!"

He was right. The new tax did create a sensation.

Bardissi's officials flew from house to house, levying a contribution of five hundred sequins from each Frank and Levantine.

Their demands were met everywhere with violent opposition, and caused general dismay. All the consuls repaired to the citadel, to Bardissi, to protest, in the names of their respective countries, against this unexpected outrage. Bardissi turned a deaf ear to their protests and entreaties. He thought only of his empty coffers, and of the necessity of paying the soldiers on the following day.

Nothing could induce him to retract his action. The collection of the tax was enforced, and the money extorted from the foreigners.

The consuls, however, incensed at the outrage, and resolved not to submit to such treatment, left Cairo in a body, followed by their entire households, to repair to Alexandria to take up their residence there. But, during the night preceding their departure, the French consul had a long private conference with Mohammed Ali.

What passed at this interview no one knew. At daybreak Mohammed accompanied the consul to the door of his house, and, in taking leave of him, said in a low voice: "Only wait. The fruit is ripe and will soon fall. Tell Courschid Pacha I am working for him, and am still the sultan's faithful servant. Though it seem otherwise, I am still working for him. Be assured, I shall act promptly when the time for action comes."

On the following morning the defterdar gave the troops half their pay, the sum raised by the tax imposed on the foreigners not being sufficient to liquidate the whole amount. The soldiers, however, were not satisfied with receiving half their pay, and went away grumbling. This gave only temporary relief, and soon the whole army was dissatisfied, clamoring for pay and ripe for revolt.

New taxes had to be imposed, and the burden fell upon the hapless people. The tax-gatherers made their circuit again, and mercilessly collected the tax, in spite of the opposition and lamentations of the sorely-oppressed people. If they refused to pay, the amount was raised by selling their houses. The enraged, despairing people no longer grumbled, but rushed howling and crying in dense masses to the Mosque El-Ayar, declaring that they would rather die than longer endure such outrages.

The monster-rebellion-raises its head again, and the uproar of revolt rounds through all Cairo.

The cadis and sheiks hasten to the mosque to use their influence in tranquillizing the people, but in vain. The only response to their representations is, "We cannot, we will not pay more!"

The vast hall of the mosque resounds with their lamentations and cries of rage. Suddenly Mohammed Ali, followed by a few of his soldiers, appears on the threshold. In a loud voice he begs the people to disperse; in Bardissi's name he promises that the collection of the new tax shall not be enforced. He had gone to Bardissi and entreated him to torment the people no longer, and Bardissi had yielded to his entreaties.

"Repair quietly to your homes, and fear no longer for your property.

I interceded for you, and Bardissi gave me his solemn promise that the tax should not be enforced."

The spacious mosque resounds with shouts of delight. The people cry, "Long live Mohammed Ali!" All rush forward to grasp his hand and assure him of their friendship and devotion.

Mohammed feels that he has won the people by his shrewd course.

Those who meet him in the streets salute him with reverence and devotion, and call down blessings on his head. When they meet the Mameluke beys, they look down and knit their brows; they have made themselves odious to the people, and are hourly becoming more and more detested by them. The thunder-clouds are gathering rapidly on the heads of the Mameluke beys. They see the coming storm in the angry looks of those who approach them; they feel it in the solitude that surrounds them. Curses are invoked upon their heads by the people, and not blessings, as upon Mohammed Ali's head.

Mohammed quietly prepares for the future; nothing is left to accident. No unlooked--for event must break in upon his plans, and destroy him with the rest. Let the fruit fall when ripe, and fall so deep into the abyss that no hand can pluck it thence!

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.