"Where is the nearest khan?" he asked.
"About an hour's walk along the road," replied the man, looking curiously at him.
"Who is the khanji?"
"Hussan, the son of Ibrahim."
"Is it a good khan? I shall be glad to get there. I have had a long walk. My horse fell lame: I could not get another: they are all taken for the army."
"It is a good khan. Hussan is a good man. You will rest well."
More salutations were exchanged, and each went on his way.
In less than an hour Frank arrived at a building in which lights were burning. He knocked at the door, and called for Hussan the son of Ibrahim. A voice from within asked who he was and what was his business.
"A merchant of Corinth, O khanji, compelled to go on foot by the loss of his horse. I am weary and desire to rest, and it has been told me along the road how excellent is this khan, and how princely the hospitality of the khanji."
"Great is Truth," said the khanji, opening the door. "Here, if you are a respectable man and can pay, you shall find good food and a couch to yourself, since I have but few guests to-night."