"If the Most-Auspicious will grant us private audience for a space, we will disclose that which may alter Majesty's opinion," said their leader.
Akbar frowned; Birbal and Abulfazl scenting some further conspiracy, stepped forward with instant excuse.
"It is not on the list, sire," said the latter. But the Emperor's sense of Kingship had been aroused, first by his reply to Pâdré Rudolfo, next by the Makhdûm's militant protest. So with a quaint admixture of pride and humility he set aside the Prime Minister's plea haughtily.
"Justice, Shaikh-jee, is not listed like an auctioneer's tale of goods. Ushers! clear the assemblage! My friends, farewell! I would be alone with these gentlemen for a while."
After the ceremonial salaamings, the rustle and glitter of retreating silks and satins had died away, he faced those few as he stood below the throne.
"Well," he said, "speak."
A little old man, poet as well as prince, prostrated himself, and so began with many flowers of speech, many ambiguities, and many quotations from Hafiz, on the story of Prince Salîm's sight of Mihr-un-nissa. "Thus O Most Illustrious King, O! Most Indulgent Father, Fate hath intervened and sent Love!" he concluded, adding in pompous monotonous chant the well-known lines:
He whose soul by Love is quickened, never can to death be hurled;
Written is his name immortal in the records of the world.
Then it was that Akbar turned and looked at Birbal. The latter was instant in reply to the unspoken questions.
"The love of a lad of eighteen, Most High, can scarce be counted love. And might we learn the honourable family of the lady? That hath been omitted."