A shout of praise greeted his appearance. All heads were bowed. Shems-ud-dìn ran to the foot of the stone flight with design to kiss his hand. But the Frank resisted. He repaid their salutations fluently, and, for the rest, spoke in a childish kind of Arabic, easy to comprehend. He asked to know in what manner he could serve them.
Zeyd ebn Abbâs and the three Circassians raised hands and eyes toward the great blue sky, implying that the gravity of the matter passed human explanation, and required Allah fitly to describe. Mâs, whose custom was to mind his own business, employed himself tranquilly in smoothing down the curtains of the palanquin. Shems-ud-dìn bowed low before the stranger.
“Know, O renowned hakìm, that my daughter, who is here with us, lies sick unto death. And it was told me in the place where I dwell, how thou canst heal where all others despair of healing. Wherefore I journeyed hither under escort of these kind companions, bringing the girl my daughter, and certain gifts for thy acceptance, and also a sum of money, that peradventure thou mightst take pity on my daughter and condescend to employ thy skill upon her. O my son, hear the prayer of an old man whose heart is sad, and I will requite thee to the utmost of my means, and Allah, who is more than all of us, will give to thee at the Last Day.”
“Where is the girl?” asked the Frank; and the abruptness with which he put the question, deigning no preliminary compliment, caused the bystanders to say among themselves:
“See how rude he is! He must be conscious of very great ability to be thus short with the revered Shems-ud-dìn.”
The physician stooped beside the litter.
“O girl, give me thy hand,” he said; causing Zeyd and the Circassians to exclaim the more, saying:
“Surely he is a very great physician.”
“Let see thy face.”