Behind this young woman, and in violent contrast to her, came a guard, armed with naked sabres and long damascened pistols, carrying a dead body in a palanquin.
The corpse was that of an old man clothed in the rich dress of a rajah; the turban embroidered with pearls, the robe of silk tissue and gold, the girdle of cashmere studded with diamonds, and wearing the beautiful weapons of an Indian prince.
The musicians brought up the rear with a guard of fanatics, whose cries even drowned the noise of the instruments at times. These closed the cortége.
Sir Francis Cromarty watched the procession pass by and his face wore a peculiarly saddened expression. Turning to the guide, he said:
"Is it a suttee?"
The Parsee made a sign in the affirmative, and put his fingers on his lips. The long procession wended its way slowly amongst the trees, and before long the last of it disappeared in the depths of the forest. The music gradually died away, occasionally a few cries could be heard, but soon they ceased, and silence reigned around.
Phileas Fogg had heard what Sir Francis had said, and as soon as the procession had passed out of sight, he said:
"What is a suttee?"
"A suttee," replied the general, "is a human sacrifice—but a voluntary one. That woman you saw just now will be burned to-morrow morning at daylight."
"The scoundrels!" exclaimed Passe-partout, who could not repress his indignation.