There was a movement in among them then. Some servants brought in baskets, and distributed them at about equal intervals amid the forest of booted legs. When the servants had left the hall, Yasmini spoke.
"My Lords, in the presence of you all I vow love, honor, fealty and a wife's devotion to the prince of my choosing—to my husband who shall be— who now is by Gandharva ceremony; for I went to him of my own free will by night! My Lords, I present to you—"
There was a pause, while every man present caught his breath, and the women rustled like a dove-cot behind the panel.
"—Gunga Khatiawara Dhuleep Rhakapushi Utirupa Singh—Maharajah of Sialpore!"
Two hundred swords sprang clear again. The chandeliers rattled and the beams shook to the thunder of two hundred throats.
"Rung Ho!" they roared.
"Rung Ho!"
"Rung Ho!" bringing down their right feet with a stamp all together that shook the building.
Then the baskets were cut open by the swords' points and they flung flowers at the dais, swamping it in jasmine and sweet-smelling buds, until the carpet was not visible. The same black-bearded veteran who had spoken first mounted the dais and hung garlands on Yasmini and her prince, and again the hall shook to the roar of acclamation and the sharp ringing of keen steel.
But Yasmini had not finished all she had to say. When the shouting died and the blades returned to scabbards, her voice again stirred their emotions, strangely quiet and yet reaching all ears with equal resonance, like the note of a hidden bell.