"It means," he went on, with a hand on each knee and his strange eyes
fixed steadily on Feisul's, "that the French are ready to attack you.
It means they're sure of capturing your person--and bent on seeing your
finish. They'll give you a drumhead court martial and make excuses
afterward."
"Inshallah," Feisul answered, meaning "If Allah permits it."
"That is exactly the right word!" Grim exploded; and Lord, he was hard
put to it to keep excitement within bounds.
I could see his neck trembling, and there were little beads of sweat on
his temple. It was Grim at last without the mask on. "Allah marks the
destiny of all of us. Do you suppose we're here for nothing--at this
time?"
Feisul smiled.
"I am glad to see you," he said simply.
"Are you planning to fight the French?" Grim asked him suddenly, in the
sort of way that a man at close quarters lets rip an upper-cut.
"I must fight or yield. They have sent an ultimatum, but delayed it so
as not to permit me time to answer. It has expired already. They are
probably advancing."
"And you intend to sit here and wait for them?"
"I shall be at the front."
"You know you haven't a chance!"
"My advisers think that my presence at the front will encourage our men
sufficiently to win the day.
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