"No; from your conversation I should take you for a lamb," said I.
"I am not bloodthirsty," continued Gregorios. "I should not care to kill a man who was quite defenseless, or who was innocent. Indeed, I would not do such a thing on any account."
"No. But I like fighting. I enter into the spirit of the thing. There is really nothing more exhilarating,--I even believe it is healthy."
"For the survivors it is good exercise. Those who do not survive are, of course, no longer in a condition to appreciate the fun."
"Exactly; the fun consists in surviving."
"One does not always survive," I objected.
"What is the difference?" exclaimed Balsamides, who probably shrugged his shoulders, in his dark corner of the carriage. "A man can die only once, and then it is all over."
"A man can also live only once," said I. "A living dog is better than a dead lion."
"Very little," answered Balsamides, with a laugh. "I would rather have been a living lion for ever so short a time, and be dead, than be a Pera dog forever. The Preacher would have been nearer to the truth if he had said that a living man is better than a dead man. But the Preacher was an Oriental, and naturally had to use a simile to express his meaning."
Suddenly the carriage stopped in the road. Then, after a moment's pause, we turned to the right, and began to descend a steep hill, slowly and cautiously, for the night was very dark and the road bad.
"We are going down to Yeni Köj," said Balsamides. "In twenty minutes we shall be there. I will get out of the carriage first. Remember that, once there, you must not speak a word of any language but Turkish."
Slowly we crept down the hill, the wheels grinding in the drag, and jolting heavily from time to time. There were trees by the roadside,--indeed, we were on the outskirts of the Belgrade forest. The bare boughs swayed and creaked in the bitter March wind, and as I peered out through the window the night seemed more hideous than ever.
"By the by," said I, suddenly, "we have no names. What am I to call you, if I have to speak to you?"
"Anything," said Balsamides. "She does not know the name of the court physician, I suppose. However, you had better call me by his name. She might know, after all. Call me Kalopithaki Bey. You are Mehemet Bey. That is simple enough. Here we are coming to the house; be ready, they will open the door if they recognize the palace carriage through the lattice. Of course every one will be up if the old lady is dying, and it is not much past twelve. The man has driven fast."