"You know her?" Demedes asked.
"Yes."
"You believe her the daughter of the Prince of India?"
"Yes."
"Then you do not know her."
The Greek laughed insolently.
"The best of us, and the oldest can be at times as much obliged by information as by a present of bezants. The Academy sends you its compliments. The girl is the daughter of a booth-keeper in the bazaar—a Jew, who has no princely blood to spare a descendant—a dog of a Jew, who makes profit by lending his child to an impostor."
"Whence hadst thou this—this—"
The Greek paid no attention to the interruption.
"The Princess Irene gives a fete this afternoon. The fishermen of the Bosphorus will be there in a body. I will be there. A pleasant time to you, and a quick awakening, O Sergius!"