"I have an adversary somewhere," he was saying to himself—"an adversary more powerful than gold in quantity. Are there two such in Byzantium?"
An account of Demedes' action gave him some comfort.
About the third hour, Sergius asked to see him, and was admitted. After a simple expression of sympathy, the heartiness of which was attested by his sad voice and dejected countenance, the monk said: "Prince of India, I cannot tell you the reasons of my opinion; yet I believe the young woman is a prisoner here in this city. I will also beg you not to ask me where I think she is held, or by whom. It may turn out that I am mistaken; I will then feel better of having had no confidant. With this statement—submitted with acknowledged uncertainty—can you trust me?"
"You are Sergius, the monk?"
"So they call me; though here I have not been raised to the priesthood."
"I have heard the poor child speak of you. You were a favorite with her."
The Prince spoke with trouble.
"I am greatly pleased to hear it."
The trouble of the Prince was contagious, but Sergius presently recovered.
"Probably the best certificate of my sincerity, Prince—the best I can furnish you—is that your gold is no incentive to the trial at finding her which I have a mind to make. If I succeed, a semblance of pay or reward would spoil my happiness."