As he spoke, the great nose trembled slightly.
"No, I will bite ginger," replied the white man.
"Why is your face so green ?" "It is a melon-face--a green face with a red heart." "Pass," said the cripple, gently.

He pulled a cord--the nose quaking with this exertion--and opened the third door.
Again the chamber was dim.

A venerable man in gleaming silks--a grandfather, by his drooping rat-tail moustaches--sat fanning himself.
In the breath of his black fan, the lamplight tossed queer shadows leaping, and danced on the table of polished camagon.

Except for this unrest, the aged face might have been carved from yellow soapstone.

But his slant eyes were the sharpest yet.
"You have come far," he said, with sinister and warning courtesy.
Too far, thought Heywood, in a sinking heart; but answered:-- "From the East, where the Fusang cocks spit orient pearls." "And where did you study ?" The black fan stopped fluttering.
"In the Red Flower Pavilion." "What book did you read ?" "The book," said Heywood, holding his wits by his will, "the book was Ten Thousand Thousand Pages." "And the theme ?" "The waters of the deluge crosswise flow." "And what"-- the aged voice rose briskly--"what saw you on the waters ?" "The Eight Abbots, floating," answered Heywood, negligently.--"But," ran his thought, "he'll pump me dry." "Why," continued the examiner, "do you look so happy ?" "Because Heaven has sent the Unicorn." The black fan began fluttering once more.