“Gutchlug!”
“I hear, Prince Sanang.”
“Strike when I nod. Not until then.”
“I hear, Tougtchi. I understand thee, my Banneret. I whet my knife. Kai!”
Sanang looked at him, put on his top-hat and overcoat, pulled on a pair of white evening gloves.
“I go forth,” he said more pleasantly.
“I remain here to talk to my seven ancestors and sharpen my knife,” remarked Gutchlug.
“When the white world and the yellow world and the brown world and the black world finally fall before the Hassanis,” said Sanang with a quick smile, “I shall bring thee to her. Gutchlug—once—before she is veiled, thou shalt behold what is lovelier than Eve.”
The other stolidly whetted his knife.
Sanang pulled out a gold cigarette case, lighted a cigarette with an air.