"I should call him king of the tiger-hunters," the friend replied.
"Only a Prince of India would carry such a pensioner with him," another remarked.
"What a man!" said a woman, half afraid.
"An infidel, no doubt," was the answer.
"It is not a Christian wish, I know," the first added; "still I should like to see him face a lion in the Cynegion."
"Ay, him they call Tamerlane, because he is shorn of two toes."
The Prince, casting a glance of scarce concealed contempt over the throng, sighed, as he muttered, "If now I could meet the Emperor!"
The exclamation was from his heart.
We have seen the idea which lured him to Mecca, and brought him to Constantinople. In the years since flown, it was held subordinate to his love of Lael—subordinate merely. Latterly it had revived with much of its original force, and he was now for the first time seriously scheming for an interview with the Emperor. No doubt a formal request would have secured the honor; but it was in his view better policy to be sought than seek, and with all his wealth, there was nothing he could so well afford to pay for success as time. In his study, he was continually saying to himself:
"It cannot be that the extravagances to which I am going will fail. He will hear of me, or we may meet—then the invitation!—And then I will propose the Brotherhood—God help me! But it is for him to invite me. Patience, O my soul!"