He smiled sardonically, thinking of the torrent of words he was about to face, since she, likely, would be the only one with her wits about her.
And he was right!
As he set aside the silken curtains which hid the interior of her painted pavilion from sight, he found the place half-full of drowsy girls and sodden revellers; but she, raising herself from her cushions on her elbow, greeted him instantly with shrill jest.
"The King himself! Oh! the honour! Nay, 'tis not the King, but the King's Counsellor. Sir! I would rise," she continued pointing and making a graceful wriggle of apparent effort, "but that my treasure, my lover, my husband, lies dead-drunk at my feet."
Birbal gave a quick glance at the prostrate figure among the cushions.
"Yea!" she continued, her baby face at strange variance with her words, which came, clipped hard and fast with defiance, from her soft-parted lips. "'Tis Syed Jamâl-ud-din, of Bârha, sure enough. A good soldier to the King though at this present somewhat overcome with love for poor me and liquor; as indeed is the Prince of Proprieties yonder. Ah! Most Revered! Oh! Most Excellent of Heirs Apparents! rouse thee to greet this Select Emissary of a Fateful Father."
Prince Salîm, a big, heavy looking lad, stared stupidly at the newcomer, his cup arrested at his lips.
"What'sh devil he coming here for?" he muttered fiercely. "That's what I wan'ter know. What'sh a devil----" Then his ferocity subsided amid a titter from Siyah Yamin.
"Heed him not, Birbal, Prince of Jesters. Slaves, bring a cushion! Sit thee down, so, beside me--we be the only two sober ones. Cupbearer, the cup! And bring the snow from holy Himâlya to cleanse it; for see you most Brahman Birbal, Siyah Yamin is fast Mahommedan since she married! La-illaha-il-ullaho."
"Madam," said Birbal interrupting her mocking creed impatiently, "if you would play your part as the wife of a Syed of Bârha----"