“Canst thou not, then, conceive it save out of Magic? The truth walks in the sun.”
“Nay, but if the sun’s eclipsed? We come to thee to light a candle to the truth obscured.”
“We, sayst thou?”
“I speak for him beside me here.”
“What is his name?”
“Why, were not to withhold it to honour best your skill? Shall Spartacus show no better than the Egyptian’s guile, fitting his prescience to his subject once identified. Name him, quotha! What need? Wiser is Spartacus.”
“Yet not so wise, it seems, as M. Mirobole.”
The King started violently.
“Knowest thou me, too, Magician?” he muttered.
“Ay, Monarch,” answered the pale lips; “and thy purpose in seeking me.”