LAF.

Quiet. Betray me not. But whisper low,
How comes it that in Pekin you are found?

BARAK.

When your ill-fated army fought and lost
Before the gates of Astrakhan, and fled
Close followed by the Sultan of Taschkent,
Who, barbarous, o'er the battlefield careered,
I in my helpless rage and wounded sore
Sought refuge in the city. There I heard
Timur, your noble father, like yourself,
Had fallen in the battle. Weeping then,
I hastened to the Palace, with intent
To save Elmase, your mother, from the foe.
I could not find her. And already raged
The Sultan o'er the unresisting town.
I turned my back on hope, and fled away.
And after months of wandering I came hither,
And took a false name, calling myself Hassan
The Persian, and as such I came to know
A widow in distress. By virtue of
My few remaining jewels which I sold
For her, and by the good advice I gave,
I rescued her from utter penury.
She was not thankless, I disliked her not,
And in the end I married her. And she
Even to this very day thinks that I am
A Persian, and she calls me Hassan, not
Barak. And so I live with her, and I
Am poor indeed after my former state,
But richer than a prince now that I find
You who are dearer to me than a son,
Now that I find my Prince Calaf alive.

(_Kneels._)

CALAF.

'Sh! Speak no name! On that disastrous day
I hied me with my father to the Palace.
We snatched what precious things we could, and fled,
We and my mother, out of Astrakhan,
All three in beggars' garb.

BARAK (_weeps_).

Prince, say no more!
My heart is breaking. Timur, my noble King,
The Queen herself in such sad lowliness.
But are they yet alive?

CALAF.

They are alive,
Barak. They both are living. And after that,
Wandering still farther, in the end we came
Unto the city of the Carcasenes.

BARAK (_rises_).

O say no more! I have heard enough of grief...
And yet I see you as a knight attired.
Tell me how fortune favoured you at last.

CALAF.

Tell you how fortune--_favoured_ me? You jest!
But I will tell you how I fared. The Khan
Of Berlas hath a favourite sparrow-hawk,
That with his jesses to the forest flew.
By some good chance I caught this hawk, and brought him
Home to the Khan, who questioned of my name.
I hid my birth, and painted myself poor,
A porter of burdens, and my parents ill.
Straightway he sends them to the hospital... (_Weeps._)
Barak, thy King, thy Queen, in a hospital!

BARAK.

Merciful God!