"And then?"
"I will ask your aid."
Her voice was very low.
"And if it is written that I succeed?"
Miska averted her head.
"Oh, Chunda Lal … I cannot."
She hid her face in her hands.
Chunda Lal stood watching her for a moment in silence, then he turned toward the cellar door, and then again to Miska. Suddenly he dropped upon one knee before her, took her hand and kissed it, gently.
"I am your slave," he said, his voice shaken with emotion. "For myself
I ask nothing—only your pity."
He rose, opened the door by which Miska had entered the room and went down into the cellars. She watched him silently, half fearfully, yet her eyes were filled with compassionate tears. Then, readjusting the hideous grey wig, she went up the steps and passed through the doorway into the den of the opium smokers.