and facing that an image of the Buddha done in greenish bronze,
flanked by a Dutch picture of the Twelve Apostles with laughably Dutch
faces receiving instruction on a mountain from a Christ whose other
name was surely Hans.

Down the center of the hall, leading to a gallery, was a magnificent
stairway of marble and lapis lazuli, carpeted with long Bokhara strips
so well joined end to end that the whole looked like one piece. And
at the top of those stairs Yasmini stood waiting, her golden hair illuminated
by glass lamps on either marble column at the stairhead. She was as
different from the Gunga Singh of riding boots and turban as the morning
is from night--the loveliest, bewitchingest girl in silken gossamer that
Tess had ever set eyes on.

"I knew you would come!" she shouted gleefully. "I knew you would
get in! I knew you are my friend! Oh, I'm glad! I'm glad!"

She pirouetted a dozen times on bare toes at the top of the stairs,
spinning until her silken skirts expanded in a nimbus, then danced
down-stairs into Tess's arms, where she clung, panting and laughing.

"I'm so hungry! Oh, I'm hungry! Did you bring the food?"

"I'm ashamed!" Tess answered. "The man set it down outside the
door and I left it there."

But Yasmini gave a little shrill of delight, and Tess turned to see that
another maid had brought it.

"How many of you are there?"