"Kiss him, Mother of the Heavens, kiss him! Whom do they call him, the young cub who brings ill-fortune to our doors?
They call him the son of Mopo and Macropha!" And she laughed wildly, stopped speaking, and sank back upon the bed of skins.
"They call him the son of Mopo and Macropha," said the king in a low voice.

"Whose son is he, then, woman ?" "Oh, ask her not, O king," cried his mother and his wife, casting themselves upon the ground before him, for they were mad with fear.

"Ask her not; she has strange fancies such as are not meet for your ears to hear.

She is bewitched, and has dreams and fancies." "Peace!" he answered.

"I will listen to this woman's wanderings.