Birbal sate arrested for a second, then, seeing from the supineness of the figure beside him, that all hope of further speech with the drug-eater was over, rose impatiently and made his way downstairs, asking himself why he had come.
He paused astonished, however, to find the lower story no longer dark. It was, on the contrary, brilliantly lit, servants were flitting about, and in the central room, whose twelve arches gave on surrounding arched aisles, which in their turn gave on overshadowing trees and river gleam, a supper cloth was laid for two.
And by all the Gods! The figure which sate there holding a cup of wine in its raised right hand was the Sufi from Isphahân!
[CHAPTER XIV]
Bring wine and I will read
The riddle of this life of mine;
The old stars' wizardry, the shine
Of new moons wandering overhead:
All this, I'll read with wine.
--Hafiz.
For an instant Birbal was speechless, then he recovered himself.
"Who art thou, man of many faces?"
The question came peremptorily, the answer suavely.
"Thine host; for the rest, as thou art, a mere wayfarer on the limited path of life. Combining the two, this slave ventures to offer refreshment. Cupbearer! Wine of Shirâz, and scent the goblet's edge with rose.