"Then they would have eaten me up as easily as you might swallow an
oyster," laughed Monsieur Maurice. "Nay, my child, why that serious face? I
should have escaped a world of trouble, and been missed by no one--except
poor Ali."
"Who was Ali?" I asked quickly.
"Ali was my Nubian servant--my only friend, then; as you, little Gretchen,
are my only friend, now," replied Monsieur Maurice, sadly. "Aye, my only
little friend in the wide world--and I think a true one."
I did not know what to say; but I nestled closer to his side; and pressed
my cheek up fondly against his shoulder.
"Tell me more about him, Monsieur Maurice," I whispered. "I am so glad he
loved you dearly."
"He loved me very dearly," said Monsieur Maurice "so dearly that he gave
his life for me."
"But is Ali dead?"
"Ay--Ali is dead. Nay, his story is brief enough, petite. I bought him in
the slave market at Cairo--a poor, sickly, soulless lad, half stupid from
ill-treatment. I gave him good food, good clothes, and liberty. I taught
him to read. I made him my own servant; and his soul and his strength came
back to him as if by a miracle. He became stalwart and intelligent, and so
faithful that he was ten times more my slave than if I had held him to his
bondage.
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