"I am well," said the lady, with a proud and indifferent manner. "Pray, why have you come here?"
With a sense of infinite relief I told her that my visit was a private one to herself.
"Is that the truth?" she inquired, looking rather at her women for some confirmation than at me for a reply.
"It is indeed," I answered, unhesitatingly; "I have come to you as one woman would come to another who is in trouble."
"But how may that be?" she rejoined, haughtily. "You must know, madam, that all women are not alike; some are born princesses, and some are born slaves." She pronounced these words very slowly, and in the court language of the Siamese.
"Yes, we are not all alike, dear lady," I replied, gently; "I have not come here out of mere idle curiosity, but because I could not refuse your foster-sister May-Peâh's request to do you a service."
"What did you say?" cried the lady, joyfully rising, and drawing me towards her, putting her arms ever so lovingly round my neck, and laying her burning cheek against mine. "Did you say May-Peâh, May-Peâh?"
Without another word, for I could not speak, I was so much moved, I drew out of my pocket the mysterious letter, and put it into her hands.
I wish I could see again such a look of surprise and joy as that which illuminated her proud face. So rapid was the change from despair to gladness, that she seemed for the moment supremely beautiful.
Her bps trembled, and tears filled her eyes, as with a nervous movement she tore open the velvet covering and leaned towards the earthen lamp to read her precious letter.