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THREE
    Almost before she had time to take in what the man was sa ying, the car stopped abruptly, with a squeal of brakes, and the door was opened by a black-bearded orderly in imposing livery who, salaaming respectfully, invited her to alight and enter the palace.
    In her agitation every word of the Hindustani acquired with such effort during recent months deserted her completely. She could only exclaim, in peremptory English, “Has everyone gone quite mad? I ’ ve no intention of getting out here. I wish to be driven to the state guest house — at once!”
    The man, looking thoroughly bewildered and plainly understanding very little of what she was saying, went forward to speak to the driver. An animated discussion ensued, of which the only phrase she could catch, flung from one to the other, was, “His Highness ’ s orders.” Feeling more and more uneasy, she peered out and saw that the car was drawn up beside a flight of wide steps leading to a building topped with domes and pinnacles that in the dusk had an eerie quality reminiscent of stories from the Arabian Nights. Light was streaming from an open door revealing the figures of a dozen or so other orderlies grouped on the steps, and as she watched them, feeling every moment more exasperated and more helpless, some of them came down to join in the argument with the driver.
    She wanted to ask for Armand, but it was obvious that she would have no chance of making herself heard above the din, as long as she sat in the car; and at last, anger conquering fear, she got out and, addressing th e group in general, demanded sharply, “Where is Verle Sahib?”
    The question brought no more satisfactory response than her previous remarks. All that happened was that the first orderly, bursting into rapid Hindustani, renewed his eager request that she should enter the palace; while the driver of the car muttered that they were in Bhindi now, where everyone had to obey the raja ’ s commands; that Verle Sahib himself could only do as His Highness ordered and was probably waiting inside to greet the memsahib .
    That ’ s nonsense; still, I can’t stay out here all night, was Stella ’ s thought, and after a moment ’ s final hesitation she nodded stiffly to the orderly and allowed him to lead her in triumph, between the rows of attendants on the steps, into the vast entrance hall of the palace.
    At any other time she would have been entranced by the beauty of the white-marble walls and pillars, and of the fairylike carving with which they were adorned; but now there was only one thought in her mind: to see this preposterous Chawand Rao and demand that she should be put in touch at once with Armand Verle, and escorted to the state guest house. However unpleasant a person Chawand Rao might be, he would at least be able to carry on a conversation with her in English, for it was well-known that he had been educated at one of the English universities.
    Her legs were trembling as she stood there, and she longed to sit down. But the only furniture was a large divan that she guessed from its position in the center of the room and from its sumptuous cover of shot blue and gold, was the “throne” from which Chawand Rao dispensed justice to his people; and it needed more courage than she possessed to seat herself there.
    Glancing around she saw that curtains of the same gorgeous fabric hung over four archways at the sides and the back of the hall. And at that moment one of these curtains was moved aside, and a man came in—an Indian who, by his manner and dress, she at once guessed was Chawand Rao.
    What manner of man she had expected to meet she could not have said, but certainly it had been someone very different from this dignified and handsome personage who, with his olive skin, might well have passed for a Spaniard.
    Coming straight up to her, he held out his hand. “I must apologize for persuading you to come to the palace,” he said. “But I am sure that when I explain,