Siyah Yamin gave a little shriek of dismay. "My veil! Here! women, my veil! lo! I was forgetting."
"A truce to jesting, madam," said Birbal sternly. "Time will show if what thou sayest be true; meanwhile----" he glanced round, hastily taking in the company. "So! Meean Khodadâd! Hide not thyself behind the Prince as ever! God! if I could kill thee 'twere better for us all!"
Khodadâd, on whose face sate enthroned all the evil which in the younger revellers showed as yet fleetingly, roused himself to laugh insultingly.
"What! Kill a Tarkhân? Lo! Brahman, even thy caste in that case would not save thee from the hangman's noose. None can punish me, fool, I am Khodadâd--'God given.'"
"God given!" echoed Birbal passionately. "That brings one balm--no man need shrink calling thee son! And as for thou, Lâlla!--go! accursed by thy father!"
"What'sh all this," murmured Prince Salîm rising unsteadily. "What'sh all this fush?"
"My Prince," said Birbal, restraining his voice to respect, "this is no place for you--no place for the Heir to India--no place for one who will be King when his great father----"
Prince Salîm dashed his cup down with a curse.
"Let be a shay! I tell you I am King here! Am I not King, and the Shadow of God? Am I not a shay?"
He looked round on his company triumphantly; but Birbal, utterly exasperated, bowed.