“And as in ancient days,” he said, “our royal women chose their husbands at a durbar summoned by the king; and because in ancient times, when Rajasthan was a land of kings indeed and its royal women, as the endless pages of our history tell, stood proved and acclaimed as fit to govern, and defend, and die untarnished in the absence of their lords; therefore we now see fit to attend this durbar, and to witness and give sanction.  Once again, my Lords, a royal daughter of a throne of Rajasthan shall choose her husband in the sight of all of us let come of it what may!”

He ceased, and the crowd burst into cheers.  Yasmini translated his speech afterward to Tess.  He said not a word of Gungadhura, or of the throne of Sialpore, leaving that act of utter daring to the woman who was, after all, the leader of them all that night.

Now all eyes were on the dais and the door behind it.  In the inner room the women stirred and whispered, while a dozen of them, putting on their veils again, gathered around Yasmini, waiting in silence for her to give the cue.  She waited long enough to whet the edge of expectation, and then nodded.  Hasamurti opened the door wide and Yasmini stepped forth, aglitter with her jewels.

“Ah-h-h!” was her greeting—­the unbidden, irrepressible, astonished gasp of mixed emotion of a crowd that sees more wonder than it bargained for.

The twelve princesses took their place beside her on the dais, six on either side.  Immediately behind her Tess and Hasamurti stood.  Yasmini’s other maids arranged themselves with their backs to the gilded door.  She, Tess and Hasamurti were the only women there unveiled.

She stood two minutes long in silence, smiling down at them while Tess’s heart-beats drummed until she lost count, Tess suspecting nervousness because of her own nerves, and not so wildly wrong.

“You’re not alone,” she whispered.  “You’ve a friend behind you—­two friends!”

Then Yasmini spoke.

“My Lords.”  The word “Bahadur” rolled from her golden throat like chords of Beethoven’s overture to Leonori.  “You do our olden customs honor.  True chivalry had nearly died since superstition and the ebb and flow of mutual mistrust began to smother it in modern practises.  But neither priest nor alien could make it shame for maidenhood to choose which way its utmost honor lies.  Ye know your hearts’ delight.  Goodness, love and soundless fealty are the attributes your manhood hungers for.  Of those three elements is womanhood.  And so, as Shri—­goddess of all good fortune—­comes ever to her loved one of her own accord and dowers him with richer blessing than he dreamed, true womanhood should choose her mate and, having chosen, honor him.  My Lords, I choose, in confidence of your nobility and chivalry!”

Pausing for a minute then, to let the murmur of assent die down, and waiting while they stamped and shuffled into three long lines, she descended the steps alone, moving with a step so dignified, yet modest, that no memory of past events could persuade Tess it was artistry.  She felt—­Tess was sure of it, and swore to it afterward—­in her heart of hearts the full spiritual and profound significance of what she did.