Ahmad quickly noticed his guest's brightening humor.
"What did I tell thee," he whispered insinuatingly. "Miserable indeed would be the man whose soul was insensible to the eyes of such a one. Didst thou mark that languorous glance she cast on thee"?
Prasad sighed heavily.
"I grant you," he replied, "with but one exception, she hath a matchless form. At any other time she might have made a fair impression. Now, chains bind my soul about a thankless vision."
The girl finished her part by lightly springing from her elevated position, and prostrating herself before the nobles.
Ahmad took from his waistband a handful of gold coins and tossed them to the girl.
"Take them, O Ganga," he cried. "By Allah! Thou hast almost performed a miracle. Thou hast found favor in the eye of the inconsolable."
A slight note of sarcasm marked the Mohammedan's concluding sentence.
Far into the night the two nobles watched the repeated efforts of the dancing girls, stimulated by cups of wine, to outdo their previous displays of art. But after the first surprise on beholding Ganga's charms, Prasad relapsed within his cloud of dejection.
At last, the early shafts of dawn penetrated the reed blinds and mingled their light with that of the silver lamps suspended from the roof; a warning that the moment of sunrise was at hand. Twittering of awakened birds, and the voices of men and beasts proclaimed for the multitude the passing of the hour from rest to labor.