"Thou hast saved me telling what I did, and affirmed the logic of our
human nature," he said. "Thy imperial master is old, and much worn by
wars and cares of government, is he not?"

"Old in greatness," answered the Emir, diplomatically.

"Hath he not a son?"

"A son with all the royal qualities of the father."

"But young--not more than eighteen."

"Not more."

"And the Prophet hath lent him his name?"

"Even so."

The host released the eager face of the Emir from his gaze, while he
sought a date in the basket.

"Another horoscope--the second"--he then said, quietly, "revealed
everything but the hero's name. He is to be of kingly birth, and a Turk.
Though a lad, he is already used to arms and armor."

"Oh! by Allah, Hadji," cried the guest, his face flushed, his words
quick, his voice mandatory. "Release me from my pledge of silence. Tell
me who thou art, that I may report thee, and the things thou sayest.
There was never such news to warm a heroic heart."