"'And your home?'
"'Is the Orient, the land of the sun,' he said with emotion, as his eyes filled with tears. 'I am an Indian prince.'
"'That is the reason you hate England!' I suddenly exclaimed, as a light dawned on me.
"'Hate it! I curse it!' he said, in a choking voice. 'It is the home of traitors and murderers.'
"'But did you not tell me a little while ago that you were of French descent?'
"'Yes. Have you forgotten the names of those Frenchmen who fought so gloriously for India's independence? Dupleix, Labourdonnaye and Lally came with an army to India. My father belonged to Lally's detachment, and fell on the 27th of October, 1803, in the battle of Laswari. During his stay in India, he married a Mahratta at Scindia's court; two children resulted therefrom, a boy and a girl, and the son is the one you have rescued to-day.'
"'Then you are really a Frenchman?'
"'No; I call myself Mahratta; the blood of my mother betrays itself in my veins, for she was the daughter of a prince.'
"'And her name?'
"'I have almost forgotten it myself, as I was not permitted to pronounce it for such a long time. About five years ago Scindia began anew the struggle against English tyranny. We were defeated in the battle of Gwalior, and I and my sister Naya, a beautiful girl of fifteen, were taken prisoners by the English. For five years we suffered martyrdom; we were brought to England, and finally separated. About two months ago I managed to escape. I reached the coast, was taken on board a Spanish ship, and finally set foot on French ground. Paris is the place I desire to go to. Napoleon has promised us help if we assist him against the English. The whole of India will rise up and crush England, and Napoleon's throne will be secured forever.'