The Sultana was graciously pleased to smile.
“If your wares comport with your manners,” she said, “you will be welcome at the palace. We hold a bazaar there to-morrow, and novelties in merchandise are always acceptable on such occasions. Sher Afghán,” she continued, “see that the strangers are properly admitted to the Hall of Private Audience at the first hour appointed for those who bring articles for sale.”
The young nobleman bowed, as did Mowbray and Sainton, though the latter knew but little of the high-flown Persian in which the Sultana spoke.
Nur Mahal, who appeared to be on terms of great familiarity with her august visitor, whispered something to Queen Mariam which made the good lady laugh. Obviously, the comment had reference to Roger, and that worthy blushed, for a woman’s eyes could pierce his tough hide readily, there being no weapon to equal them known to mankind.
“She’s a bonny lass, yon,” he murmured to Walter, “and she has uncommonly high spirits. I never kent afore why a man should make a fool of himself for a woman, but now that I have seen one who is half an angel I am beginning to have a dim notion of the madness which seizes some folk.”
“There are others, but why only half an angel?” asked Mowbray with a smile, for the Queen had turned to address the Diwán.
“Because that is all we have seen. The hidden half is the devil in her. Mark me, Walter, there will be heads cracked in plenty before that fancy wench stops plaguing mankind.”
Courtesy was urging Sher Afghán to give some directions to the wanderers he had so greatly befriended, but inclination, always a willing steed, dragged him to the side of Nur Mahal.
“I came to ask what you needed most for the bazaar,” he said anxiously.