“Nor I,” said she, as her eyes flashed brightly. “My poor Ayah, who died when I was but five years old, used to tell me such tales of my father's proud spirit and the lofty way he bore himself, so that I often fancy I have seen him and heard him speak. You have heard he was a Rajah?” asked she, with a touch of pride.
The youth colored deeply as he muttered an assent, for he knew that she was ignorant of the details of her father's fate, and he dreaded any discussion of her story.
“And these Rajahs,” resumed she, “are really great princes, with power of life and death, vast retinues, and splendid armies. To my mind, they present a more gorgeous picture than a small European sovereignty with some vast Protectorate looming over it. And now it is my uncle,” said she, suddenly, “who rules there.”
“I have heard that your own claims, Fifine, are in litigation,” said he, with a faint smile.
“Not as to the sovereignty,” said she, with a grave look, half rebukeful of his levity. “The suit grandpapa prosecutes in my behalf is for my mother's jewels and her fortune; a woman cannot reign in the Tannanoohr.”
There was a haughty defiance in her voice as she spoke, that seemed to say, “This is a theme I will not suffer to be treated lightly,—beware how you transgress here.”
“And yet it is a dignity would become you well,” said he, seriously.
“It is one I would glory to possess,” said she, as proudly.
“Would you give me a high post, Fifine, if you were on the throne?—would you make me Commander-in-Chief of your army?”
“More likely that I would banish you from the realm,” said she, with a haughty laugh; “at least, until you learned to treat the head of the state more respectfully.”