She looked up at the prince almost fearfully, and down the length of the listening table, and back to the old man whose eyes were upon her face.
"He is an old man, your Highness," St.George heard her saying, "let him stay." Prince Tabnit, who gave a curious impression of doing everything that he did in obedience to inertia rather than in its defiance, indicated some command to the puzzled guards, and they led old Malakh to a stone bench not far from the dais, and there he sank down, looking about him without surprise.
"It is well," he said simply, "Malakh has come." While St.George was marveling--but not that the old man spoke the English, for in Yaque it was not surprising to find the very madmen speaking one's own tongue--Balator explained the man.
"He is a poor mad creature," Balator said.

"He walks the streets of Med saying 'Melek, Melek,' which is to say, 'king,' and so he is seeking the king.

But he is mad, and they say that he always weeps, and therefore they pretend to believe that he says 'Malakh,' which is to say 'salt.' And they call him that for his tears.

Doubtless the princess does not understand.

Her Highness has a tender heart." St.George was silent.