It was about midnight.
"Have you considered ?" said the Vizier as he came to my couch.
"I have," said I, sitting up,--I could not stand, for my legs were tied, and my arms fixed in a neat pair of steel handcuffs.

"I have," said I, "unbelieving dogs! I have.

Do you think to pervert a Christian gentleman from his faith and honor?
Ruffian blackamoors! do your worst; heap tortures on this body, they cannot last long.

Tear me to pieces: after you have torn me into a certain number of pieces, I shall not feel it; and if I did, if each torture could last a life, if each limb were to feel the agonies of a whole body, what then?
I would bear all--all--all--all--all--ALL!" My breast heaved--my form dilated--my eye flashed as I spoke these words.

"Tyrants!" said I, "dulce et decorum est pro patria mori." Having thus clinched the argument, I was silent.
The venerable Grand Vizier turned away; I saw a tear trickling down his cheeks.
"What a constancy," said he.