“Swam.”

“At night?”

The blue eyes smiled assent.

“Missy—­Your Ladyship, you mustn’t do that.  Little ladies that act that way might lose the number of their mess.  There’s crockadowndillies in that river—­aggilators—­what d’ye call the damp things?—­mugger.  They snap their jaws on a leg and pull you under!  The sweeter and prettier you are the more they like you!  Besides, missy, princesses aren’t supposed to swim; it’s vulgar.”

He contrived to look the very incarnation of offended prudery, and she laughed at him with a voice like a golden bell.

He faced Tess again with a gesture of apology.

“You’ll pardon me, ma’am, but duty’s duty.”

Tess was enjoying the play immensely, shrewdly suspecting Tom Tripe of more complaisance than he chose to admit to his prisoner.

“You must treat my house as a sanctuary, Tom.  Outside the garden wall orders I suppose are orders.  Inside it I insist all guests are free and equal.”

The Princess Yasmini slapped her boot with a little riding-switch and laughed delightedly.

“There, Tom Tripe!  Now what will you do?”

“I’ll have to use persuasion, miss!  Tell me how you got into your own palace unseen and out again with a horse without a soul knowing?”

“‘Come into my net and get caught,’ said the hunter; but the leopard is still at large.  ‘Teach me your tracks,’ begged the hunter; but the leopard answered, ‘Learn them!’ ’

“Hell’s bells!”

Tom Tripe scratched his head and wiped sweat from his collar.  The princess was gazing away into the distance, not apparently inclined to take the soldier seriously.  Tess, wondering what her guest found interesting on the horizon all of a sudden, herself picked out the third beggar’s shabby outline on the same high rock from which Yasmini had confessed to watching before dawn.

“Will your ladyship ride home with me?” asked Tom Tripe.

“No.”

“But why not?”

“Because the commissioner is coming and there is only one road and he would see me and ask questions.  He is stupid enough not to recognize me, but you are too stupid to tell wise lies, and this memsahib is so afraid of an imaginary place called hell that I must stay and do my own—­”

“I left off believing in hell when I was ten years old,” Tess answered.

“I hope to God you’re right, ma’am!” put in Tom Tripe piously, and both women laughed.

“Then I shall trust you and we shall always understand each other,” decided Yasmini.  “But why will you not tell lies, if there is no hell?”

“I’m afraid I’m guilty now and then.”

“But you are ashamed afterward?  Why?  Lies are necessary, since people are such fools!”

Tom Tripe interrupted, wiping the inside of his tunic collar again with a big bandanna handkerchief.

“How do you know the commissioner is coming, Your Ladyship?  Phew!  You’d better hide!  I’ll have to answer too many questions as it is.  He’d turn you outside in!”