After a few seconds the vizier made signs to the
pacha to look in. The pacha was obliged to strain his fat body to its
utmost altitude, standing on the tips of his toes to enable his eyes to
reach the cranny. The interior of the hovel was without furniture, a
chest in the centre of the mud floor appeared to serve as table and
repository of everything in it, for the walls were bare. At the
fireplace, in which were a few embers, crouched an old woman, a
personification of age, poverty, and starvation. She was warming her
shrivelled hands over the embers, and occasionally passed one of her
hands along her bony arm, saying, "Yes, the time has been--the time has
been."
"What can she mean," said the pacha to Mustapha, "by 'the time has
been'?"
"It requires explanation," replied the vizier; "this is certain, that it
must mean something."
"Thou hast said well, Mustapha; let us knock, and obtain admittance."
Mustapha knocked at the door of the hovel.
"There's nothing to steal, so you may as well go," screamed the old
woman; "but," continued she, talking to herself, "the time has been--the
time has been."
The pacha desired Mustapha to knock louder. Mustapha applied the hilt of
his dagger, and thumped against the door.
"Ay--ay--you may venture to knock now, the sultan's slippers are not at
the door," said the old woman: "but," continued she, as before, "the
time has been--the time has been."
"Sultan's slippers! and time has been!" cried the pacha.
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