After the proper greetings were exchanged, the African invited Michael to enter, and asked him if he would lend a patient ear to what he had to tell him.
"I am an old man," he said. "I can see the end of this existence—it is not far off. It is well that you have come."
When Michael expressed his sorrow, the tired eyes flashed.
"Do not grieve, my son. When the righteous servant of God sees death face to face, he does not contend with his God—that is to oppose His will, that is not in accordance with total resignation."
Michael said that his grief was for himself, not for his friend; his words were an apology. The old man had seated himself in a humble attitude on the floor in front of Michael; with the never-failing courtesy of an Oriental, he was not forgetful of the etiquette which prescribes for the seating of oneself in the presence of a superior. There is always a position of honour in a native room, and this, even in his cell, the zealot of Islam reserved for his professors and for his honoured guests, if they were his social superiors.
When they were seated and the tired old man had rested for a few moments, he said, in the lengthy and flowery style of Orientals:
"I looked for you, my son; your coming was foretold. I have long and eagerly awaited it."
"Were you watching for me?" Michael asked. "I saw you at the door of your cell. I am glad I came."
"Even as you came, I looked for you. The Lord of Kindness knows the desires of our hearts; He grants all those which in His mercy He deems fit."
"You desired to see me, O my father?"