“Lady,” he said, in a cold and bitter voice, “we ‘Gentiles’ have heard your words.  We thank you for your kind acknowledgment of our services, namely, the destruction of the idol of the Fung at the cost of some risk and labour to ourselves.  We thank you also for your generosity in allowing us, as the reward of that service, to depart from Mur, with insult and hard words, and such goods as remain to us, instead of consigning us to death by torture, as you and your Council have the power to do.  It is indeed a proof of your generosity, and of that of the Abati people which we shall always remember and repeat in our own land, should we live to reach it.  Also, we trust that it will come to the ears of the savage Fung, so that at length they may understand that true nobility and greatness lie not in brutal deeds of arms, but in the hearts of men.  But now, Walda Nagasta, I have a last request to make of you, namely, that I may see your face once more to be sure that it is you who have spoken to us, and not another beneath your veil, and that if this be so, I may carry away with me a faithful picture of one so true to her country and noble to her guests as you have shown yourself this day.”

She listened, then very slowly lifted her veil, revealing such a countenance as I had never seen before.  It was Maqueda without a doubt, but Maqueda changed.  Her face was pale, which was only to be expected after all she had gone through; her eyes glowed in it like coals, her lips were set.  But it was her expression, at once defiant and agonized, which impressed me so much that I never shall forget it.  I confess I could not read it in the least, but it left upon my mind the belief that she was a false woman, and yet ashamed of her own falsity.  There was the greatest triumph of her art, that in those terrible circumstances she should still have succeeded in conveying to me, and to the hundreds of others who watched, this conviction of her own turpitude.

For a moment her eyes met those of Orme, but although he searched them with pleading and despair in his glance, I could trace in hers no relenting sign, but only challenge not unmixed with mockery.  Then with a short, hard laugh she let fall her veil again and turned to talk with Joshua.  Oliver stood silent a little while, long enough for Higgs to whisper to me: 

“I say, isn’t this downright awful?  I’d rather be back in the den of lions than live to see it.”

As he spoke I saw Oliver put his hand to where his revolver usually hung, but, of course, it had been taken from him.  Next he began to search in his pocket, and finding that tabloid of poison which I had given him, lifted it toward his mouth.  But just as it touched his lips, my son, who was next to him, saw also.  With a quick motion he struck it from his fingers, and ground it to powder on the floor beneath his heel.

Oliver raised his arm as though to hit him, then without a sound fell senseless.  Evidently Maqueda noted all this also, for I saw a kind of quiver go through her, and her hands gripped the arms of her chair till the knuckles showed white beneath the skin.  But she only said: