"Suddenly he looked up and in my own tongue asked me of what colour were my eyes.

I answered that it depended upon the light in which they might be seen.
"'Not at all,' he said.

'They are always _vi-o-let_, whether the curtain is drawn or no.' Now, physician Adams, tell me what is this colour _vi-o-let_ ?" "That of a little wild flower which grows in the West in the spring, O Maqueda--a very beautiful and sweet-scented flower which is dark blue like your eyes." "Indeed, Physician," she said.

"Well, I do not know this flower, but what of that?
Your friend will live and be sane.

A dying man does not trouble about the colour of a lady's eyes, and one who is mad does not give that colour right." "Are you glad, O Child of Kings ?" I asked.
"Of course," she answered, "seeing that I am told that this captain alone can handle the firestuffs which you have brought with you, and, therefore, that it is necessary to me that he should not die." "I understand," I replied.