“Well, Gil,” he said familiarly, as he leaned back and began to smoke from the great pipe Salaman had ignited and placed ready to his hand, “what do you think of those of my people whom you saw this evening?”
“They make a good display,” I replied, “and seem to hold you in great reverence.”
“They do,” he said, without a shadow of conceit. “They believe in me because they know that for their sakes I suffered a kind of martyrdom, going, as I did, amongst your people to serve in the lowest state, and all to help free my country.”
I was silent.
“You do not share their admiration,” he said, with a laugh.
“How can I?” was my reply. “You tried to rise by the downfall of me and mine.”
“And I have risen, and they have fallen,” he said firmly. “But you have not—you rise with me.”
I was silent.
“I am going to present you to my people this evening, by-and-by, when they have eaten and rested. My servants are waiting for you in the little tent at the back.”
“Waiting? What for?” I said in surprise.