"I seem of little account," said Mitsos; "but who may 'she' be?"
"When you talk of 'she,' do I not know whom you mean? You are less wise than I. And she saved my life and that of the littlest."
"The Capsina?" cried Mitsos.
"Yes, slow one."
And Suleima told him how she had fled to Tiryns, and how the Capsina had concealed her and the little one till the Turks had been routed; only she did not tell that which it was not for Mitsos to know.
"So come in now, Mitsos, and you shall eat and wash—and indeed you are as dusty as a hen—and in the evening you shall go to Nauplia, and thank her, if so be you are pleased at what she did."
Suleima went to the bedroom and laid out for him a clean fustanella and shirt, the one on which the Capsina had used her unaccustomed needle, and went out smiling to herself. In a little while came Mitsos's voice, calling her, and back she went very grave.
He held out a ragged sleeve, with stitches loose and large.
"I have a fine housewife," said he, very sarcastically.
Suleima examined the shirt.