“Yes, it is true,” he cried, his face beaming with joy.  “A victory, a great, decisive victory!  Heaven be thanked—­the fortune of war has changed.”

He gave the bearer of the joyful news a piece of gold and hastened to inform the ladies.  Heideck, however, remained behind, immersed in thought.  The hotel soon became lively.  The English ran here and there, shouting to one another the contents of the despatch, while a growing excitement gradually showed itself in the streets.  In the so-called fort, the European quarter of Bombay, torches were lighted and feux-de-joie fired.  Heideck took one of the traps standing in front of the hotel and ordered the driver to drive through the town.  Here he observed that the rejoicings were confined to the fort.  As soon as the conveyance reached the town proper, he found that it presented the same appearance as on his first visit, and that there was nothing to show or indicate the occurrence of extraordinary events.  In spite of the lateness of the hour, the narrow streets were busy and full of traffic.  All the houses were lighted up, and all the doors open, affording a view of the interior of the primitive dwellings, of the artisans busy at their work, of the dealers plying their trade, of the housewives occupied with their domestic affairs.  Evidently the inhabitants troubled no more about the war than about the terrible scourge of the Indian population—­the plague.  The despatch announcing the victory, although no doubt it was known in the native quarter, had evidently not made the slightest impression.

About eleven o’clock Heideck returned to the hotel, where he found the Kennedys and Edith still conversing eagerly on the terrace.

“Of course we shall not leave now,” he declared.  “As soon as the Russians have evacuated the north, we shall return to Simla.”

Heideck made no remark, and since the openly expressed and heartfelt joy of the English affected him painfully, he soon took leave of them, and went up to his room, which, like Edith’s, was on the second storey.

According to the custom of the country, all the rooms opened on to the broad balcony which ran round the whole floor like an outer corridor.  As a look from Edith had repeated her wish that he should wait for her there, he stepped out on to the balcony.  His patience was not put to a severe trial.  She must have quickly found an opportunity of escaping from the Kennedys’ society, for he saw her coming towards him even sooner than he had expected.

“I thank you for waiting for me,” she said, “but we cannot stay here, for we should not be safe from surprise for a moment.  Let us go into my room.”

Heideck followed her with hesitation.  But he knew that Edith would feel insulted if he expressed any scruples at her request, for her firm confidence in his chivalrous honour relieved her of all apprehension.  Only the moon, shining faintly, shed a dim light over the room.  The clock on the tower of the neighbouring university struck twelve.