The Count bowed.
"I know my Lord, and give him this—God helping me, I will make myself notorious to the besiegers as he will be to the besieged. If at any time he sees my banderole, or if it be reported to him, let him look if my shield be black; if so, he shall come himself with a shield the color of mine, and place himself in my view. My Lord knows I make my own arrows. If I shoot one black feathered, he must pick it up. The ferrule will be of hollow lead covering a bit of scrip."
"Once more, Count Corti, the issue is with God. Good night."
Traversing the passage outside the door, the Count met the Prince of India.
"An hour ago I would have entitled you Emir: but now"—the Prince smiled while speaking—"I have stayed to thank Count Corti for his kindness to my black friend Nilo."
"Your servant?"
"My friend and ally—Nilo the King.... If the Count desires to add to the obligation, he will send the royal person to me with Ali when he returns to-night."
"I will send him."
"Thanks, Count Corti."
The latter lingered, gazing into the large eyes and ruddy face, expecting at least an inquiry after Lael. He received merely a bow, and the words: "We will meet again."