"Go on, gentlemen, I listen."
"It is for you to speak, father; it shall be as you say," Tuta replied.
"No, decide for yourselves. Do all know what we have met for?"
"Yes."
"Well, then there is nothing more to say."
"It is no use crying over sour milk," Ay repeated, adding, after a pause, "It is better that one man should die for all than that the whole people should perish."
"Who will give him the cup?" Merira asked.
"Three people can give it him in virtue of our office, you, I or Tuta," Ay answered. "Hadn't we better draw lots?"
The cat looking at the narrow stone-trellised chink-like window, right under the ceiling, was mewing savagely. Suddenly it made a huge leap across the room like a real panther, jumped up to the window, and holding on to the stone bars with its claws, thrust its head against it and tried to put its paw through, but could not: the trellis was too close. Mewing still more furiously and plaintively it jumped to the floor and rushed about the room, its black body smooth and slippery like a snake.
"What's the matter with the cat?" Merira asked. "Has it gone mad? See the way it bares its teeth! And its eyes glow like candles. Ugh, the devil! Fancy keeping a reptile like that in the house. Take care Tuta—it will go for your throat one day when you are asleep!"