After a most profound obeisance to the party, he explained in very tolerable French, that his master the Effendi, Ben Mustapha Al Halak, at whose charge (in house rent) we were then resting, sent us greetings, and begged that if not considered as contrary to our usages, &c. we should permit him and his suite to approach the kiosk and observe us at our meal.

Independent of his politeness in the mode of conveying the request, as he would prove fully as entertaining a sight to us as we could possibly be to him, we immediately expressed our great willingness to receive his visit, coupled with a half hint that perhaps he might honour us by joining the party.

After a half hour’s delay, the door was once more thrown open, and a venerable old Turk entered:  he salaamed three times most reverently, and motioned to us to be seated, declining, at the same time, by a gentle gesture of his hand, our invitation.  He was followed by a train of six persons, all splendidly attired, and attesting, by their costume and manner, the rank and importance of their chief.  Conceiving that his visit had but one object—­to observe our convivial customs—­we immediately reseated ourselves, and filled our glasses.

As one after another the officers of the effendi’s household passed round the apartments, we offered them a goblet of champagne, which they severally declined, with a polite but solemn smile—­all except one, a large, savage-looking Turk, with a most ferocious scowl, and the largest black beard I ever beheld.  He did not content himself with a mute refusal of our offer, but stopping suddenly, he raised up his hands above his head, and muttered some words in Turkish, which one of the party informed us was a very satisfactory recommendation of the whole company to Satan for their heretic abomination.

The procession moved slowly round the room, and when it reached the door again retired, each member of it salaaming three times as they had done on entering.  Scarcely had they gone, when we burst into a loud fit of laughter at the savage-looking fellow who thought proper to excommunicate us, and were about to discuss his more than common appearance of disgust at our proceedings, when again the door opened, and a turbaned head peeped in, but so altered were the features, that although seen but the moment before, we could hardly believe them the same.  The dark complexion—­the long and bushy beard were there—­but instead of the sleepy and solemn character of the oriental, with heavy eye and closed lip, there was a droll, half-devilry in the look, and partly open mouth, that made a most laughable contrast with the head-dress.  He looked stealthily around him for an instant, as if to see that all was right, and then, with an accent and expression I shall never forget, said, “I’ll taste your wine, gentleman, an it be pleasing to ye.”

CHAPTER XLV.

A day in the Phoenix.