But already, in a low, monotonous voice, as though in a dream, the boy was interpreting the talk of Mahmoud and his mate.
"Behold, it is the little Limping Boy," said Mahmoud, with his lips close to the ear of Duchess. "My old eyes are dim, but with my two fingers have I felt the iron on his leg, and I know it is he."
"Verily, it is he, my Lord," answered Duchess, caressingly. "And with him again is the strange little bird without wings—or, mayhap the gaudy creature is of his own people."
"It is well. Do you recall, O Light of my Life, how the little Limping Boy stood at our door and talked softly to himself? I remember such a boy long, long ago in the Jungle, before the days of my captivity, only he was naked and had brown skin—as brown as that of my baby sister."
"I, too, saw and heard him, my Lord. I thought he talked of us and pitied us in our captivity."
"Toots, tell me as you did yesterday, what the elephants are saying."
Now Mahmoud ceased his talk and for a moment reflected deeply. At length he said: