In a few moments the servant of the king stood beside the chariot.
"Why hast thou thus stopped the caravan of Naaman?" asked the Syrian nobleman, angrily.
"My lord, I am but fulfilling the orders of the king, my master," was the reply.
"Thou speaketh falsely," cried Naaman, with increasing anger. "Thy master didst command thee to conduct me to the house of Elisha, the prophet."
"My lord, I have obeyed the order of my master," said the servant. "This is the house of Elisha, the prophet."
"'Tis impossible!" cried Naaman, incredulously. "A great man like Elisha must surely dwell in a palace. This is the abode of a man, humble, obscure; Elisha is rich and famous."
The king's servant regarded Naaman wonderingly.
"Pardon me, my lord, but thou dost know little regarding the prophet Elisha," he said. "'Tis true that his fame hath gone forth over the land, but Elisha hath not riches; he is a man, poor and humble; he dwelleth not in a palace, this is his home."
Naaman, perplexed and wondering, waved the servant of the king impatiently aside and summoning one of his own servants, said to him: