"Cannot?"
And Mahommed's eagerness came near getting the better of his will.
"I have nothing from the stars by which to speak, and I dare not assume to reply for myself."
Then Mahommed's eyes became severely bright, and the bones of his hands shone white through the skin, so hard did he compress them.
"How long am I to wait before the glory you promise me ripens ready for gathering? If it requires long campaigns, shall I summon the armies now?"
A tone, a stress of voice in the question sent a shiver through the Prince despite his self-command. His gaze upon Mahommed's countenance, already settled, intensified, and almost before the last word passed he saw the idea he was expected to satisfy, and that it was the point to which his interrogator had been really tending from the commencement of the interview. To gain a moment, he affected not to clearly understand; after a repetition, he in turn asked, with a meaning look:
"Is not thy father, O Prince, now in his eighty-fifth year?"
Mahommed leaned further forward.
"And is it not eight and twenty years since he began reigning wisely and well?"
Mahommed nodded assent.