asking questions put to disconcert the consuls and other official folk
present, confident in the naive reply which would be returned. For there
was a keen truthfulness in the young man's words which, however suave and
carefully balanced, however gravely simple and tactful, left no doubt as
to their meaning. There was nothing in them which could be challenged,
could be construed into active criticism of men or things; and yet much
he said was horrifying. It made Achmet Pasha sit up aghast, and Nahoum
Pasha, the astute Armenian, for a long time past the confidant and
favourite of the Prince Pasha, laugh in his throat; for, if there was
a man in Egypt who enjoyed the thrust of a word or the bite of a phrase,
it was Nahoum. Christian though he was, he was, nevertheless, Oriental
to his farthermost corner, and had the culture of a French savant. He
had also the primitive view of life, and the morals of a race who, in the
clash of East and West, set against Western character and directness, and
loyalty to the terms of a bargain, the demoralised cunning of the desert
folk; the circuitous tactics of those who believed that no man spoke the
truth directly, that it must ever be found beneath devious and misleading
words, to be tracked like a panther, as an Antipodean bushman once said,
"through the sinuosities of the underbrush." Nahoum Pasha had also a
rich sense of grim humour. Perhaps that was why he had lived so near the
person of the Prince, had held office so long. There were no Grand
Viziers in Egypt; but he was as much like one as possible, and he had one
uncommon virtue, he was greatly generous. If he took with his right hand
he gave with his left; and Mahommedan as well as Copt and Armenian, and
beggars of every race and creed, hung about his doors each morning to
receive the food and alms he gave freely.

After one of David's answers to Kaid, which had had the effect of causing
his Highness to turn a sharp corner of conversation by addressing himself
to the French consul, Nahoum said suavely: