"Masa, daughter of the sheik, where are you?"

Suddenly the music of the trumpet, cymbal and fife, and the roll of the drum, breaks in upon and mingles with these tumultuous cries. With warlike music the company of soldiers from the nearest city marches into Praousta, in accordance with the command given by the governor to his captain.

The men have been on the march all night, and now enter the village in the broad light of day, with their band playing.

The military music rings out so loud and clear that the cries of lamentation are no longer heard. The crowd stand still and gaze at the gaudily-attired men who are marching into Cavalla. The tschorbadji is standing with his distinguished guest, Cousrouf Pacha, in the court-yard of the palace. He has requested him to be present at the reception of the soldiers. The pacha's countenance and bearing are unchanged--all haughtiness and dignity--only his cheeks are paler and his glance more threatening than usual. As he now turns toward the gate of the court-yard, Mohammed Ali, the boulouk bashi, appears for the first time, attired in his handsome, glittering uniform, advancing with his company toward the palace. On the governor's left stands his son Osman, who has risen from his couch, overcoming for the moment his weakness and ill-health in order to participate in the triumph of witnessing Mohammed Ali lead his company, as boulouk bashi, for the first time.

Yes, there comes Mohammed Ali, marching at the head of his company, to the sound of the martial music. He holds his sword uplifted in his right hand, and salutes the governor as he approaches by lowering its point to the ground with a deferential glance. He recognizes his friend, and Osman joyously returns the greeting. Mohammed seems to him entirely changed at this moment, his figure taller and more powerful. His countenance is manly and joyous, his eyes sparkle with a mysterious fire, a smile plays about his lips, and his whole bearing is firm and commanding.

It is not Osman alone who sees this change. Cousrouf Pacha has also observed it. His countenance darkens. He compresses his lips as if to repress a curse that is struggling for utterance. Yet he retains his air of indifference and grave countenance, though his cheeks grow a shade paler, and his brow somewhat darker.

The band plays a lively air. Mohammed conducts his soldiers before the eyes of the governor and his guest through a series of movements and evolutions which he has long since practiced in secret. As they now advance toward him, "Right about, halt!" resounds Mohammed's word of command; and his soldiers stand there like a wall.

"Well done," said Cousrouf Pacha, with a gracious inclination of the head. He then added in a loud voice, in order that Mohammed should hear him: "You see, governor, street boys can watch soldiers exercising to some purpose. Mohammed has not stared at them on the street in vain."

(Editor：government)