"What did he say?"
"He confirmed your Turk."
She gazed awhile at the overflowing of the fountain, giving a thought perhaps to the masquerader and his description of himself what time he was alone with her on the portico; presently she resumed:
"One word more now, and I dismiss the brass plate.... I cannot blind myself, dear friend, to the condition of my kinsman's empire. It creeps in closer and closer to the walls of Constantinople. Presently there will be nothing of it left save the little the gates of the capital can keep. The peace we have is by the grace of an unbeliever too old for another great military enterprise; and when it breaks, then, O Sergius, yon safeguard may be for others besides myself—for many others—farmers, fishermen and townspeople caught in the storm. Say such anticipation followed you, Sergius—what would you do with the plate?"
"What would I do with it? O little mother, I too should take counsel of my fears."
"You approve my keeping it where it is, then? Thank you.... What remains for explanation? Ah, yes—my heresy. That you shall dispose of yourself. Remain here a moment."
She arose, and passing through a doorway heavily draped with cloth, left him to the entertainment of the fountain. Returning soon, she placed a roll of paper in his hand.
"There," she said, "is the creed which your Hegumen makes such a sin. It may be heresy; yet, God helping me, and Christ and the Holy Mother lending their awful help, I dare die for it. Take it, dear Sergius. You will find it simple—nine words in all—and take this cover for it."
He wrapped the parcel in the white silken cover she gave him, making mental comparison, nevertheless, with the old Nicaean ordinances.
"Only nine words—O little mother!"