"Cawadjii, let us have some cherry-water, quite fresh," said Van Mitten.
"At gunfire," replied the man.
"What!" exclaimed Bruno. "Cherry-water with gunfire! No, cawadjii—no—with mint!"
"If you have no cherry-water," continued Van Mitten, "let us have a glass of rose-rahtlokoum. I remember it—it is very nice."
"At gun-fire," was the answer of the proprietor, as he shrugged his shoulders.
"What does he mean by gun-fire?" asked the valet of his master.
"We shall see," replied the latter, who, always willing to be accommodating, said, "If you have not rahtlokotim, let us have a cup of coffee, some sherbet—what you please."
"At gun-fire."
"At gun-fire?" repeated Van Mitten.
"Not before," said the café-keeper as he unceremoniously re-entered his shop.
"Let us come away from here," said Bruno. "There is no use in remaining with this stupid Turk, who deafens us with his 'gun-fire.'"
"Come along, Bruno," said Van Mitten. "I dare say we shall find a more complaisant café-keeper presently."
So they made their way across the open space once more.
"I am quite of opinion, sir," said Bruno, "that we cannot meet your friend, M. Kéraban, a moment too soon. We should have known what was in store for us had he been at his house of business."
"Yes, Bruno, but we must have patience a little longer. They told us we should find him here."
"But not before seven o'clock, sir. It is hither that his caïque will come to take us across to his villa at Scutari, on the opposite side of the Bosphorus."
"Quite so, Bruno; and my estimable friend will soon put us au courant with all that is going on. He is a true Turk, one of the old conservative party, who will not permit any innovations to be made in existing circumstances;
