to any one, and thy title-deed shall go to Dhulap Singh!"

Eying her like a hawk, but with more mixed emotions than that bird can
likely compass, the money-lender sat his mule and watched her stride
round the corner out of sight. Then, glancing over her shoulder to make
sure the man's parasite was not watching her at his master's orders,
she ran along the shoulder of the hill to where, in the shelter of a clump
of trees, a carriage waited.

It was one of those lumbering, four-wheeled affairs with four horses,
and a platform for two standing attendants behind and wooden lattice-work
over the windows, in which the women-folk of princes take the air.
But there were no attendants--only a coachman, and a woman who
came running out to meet her; for Yasmini, like her cousin the maharajah,
did not trust too many people all at once.

"Quick, Hasamurti!"

Fussing and giggling over her (the very name means Laughter), the
maid bustled her into the carriage, and without a word of instruction the
coachman tooled his team down-hill at a leisurely gait, as if told in advance
to take his time about it; the team was capable of speed.

Inside the carriage, with a lot more chuckling and giggling a change
was taking place almost as complete as that from chrysalis to butterfly.
The toilet of a lady of Yasmini's nice discrimination takes time in the
easiest circumstances; in a lumbering coach, not built for leg-room,
and with a looking-glass the size of a saucer, it was a mixture of horse-play
and miracle. Between them they upset the perfume bottle, as was natural,
and a shrill scream at one stage of the journey (that started a rumor all