He rolled between his fingers the extremities of the bands which fell from his tiara upon his shoulders, standing motionless with eyes cast down. At last seeing that she did not understand:
“You will be alone with him.”
“Well?” she said.
“Alone in his tent.”
“What then?”
Schahabarim bit his lips. He sought for some phrase, some circumlocution.
“If you are to die, that will be later,” he said; “later! fear nothing! and whatever he may undertake to do, do not call out! do not be frightened! You will be humble, you understand, and submissive to his desire, which is ordained of heaven!”
“But the veil?”
“The gods will take thought for it,” replied Schahabarim.
“Suppose you were to accompany me, O father?” she added.