“Yaes—yaes—your God told you.”
“Tell me what you mean.”
The face she raised was pitiful.
“Excellency, that was velly wicked lie I tell you wen I say I am convert unto you.”
He stared at her blankly. She could not bear the expression on his face and pushed herself nearer to him on her knees. Her hands fluttered above and then timidly touched his.
“Excellency, I sawry—sawry—” There was a sob in her voice now, and her eyes were misty. “Pray you be like unto the gods and forgive that lie.”
He stood up mechanically, then sat down again, turning in his seat toward the desk and resting his clasped hands there. She, from her kneeling posture, reached up to touch his arm.
“Pray—” she began and broke off, as though she could not finish. He turned his head and looked at her curiously. Still he did not speak.
“Listen,” she continued in her low, almost sighing, voice, which he no longer wished to hear. “I tell you only one lie—one liddle bit lie. Thas not velly much. Also I beseech the gods to pardon that lie—and I beseech also your mos’ kind God pardon me.” She broke off distressfully—“Excellency, will you not hear me?”
“I am listening,” he said heavily.