‘Thin a lot av whishperin’ divils surrounded the palanquin.  “Take ut up,” sez wan man.  “But who’ll pay us?” sez another.  “The Maharanee’s minister, av coorse,” sez the man.  “Oho!” sez I to mysilf, “I’m a quane in me own right, wid a minister to pay me expenses.  I’ll be an emperor if I lie still long enough; but this is no village I’ve found.”  I lay quiet, but I gummed me right eye to a crack av the shutters, an’ I saw that the whole street was crammed wid palanquins an’ horses, an’ a sprinklin’ av naked priests all yellow powder an’ tigers’ tails.  But I may tell you, Orth’ris, an’ you, Learoyd, that av all the palanquins ours was the most imperial an’ magnificent.  Now a palanquin means a native lady all the world over, except whin a soldier av the Quane happens to be takin’ a ride.  “Women an’ priests!” sez I.  “Your father’s son is in the right pew this time, Terence.  There will be proceedin’s.”  Six black divils in pink muslin tuk up the palanquin, an’ oh! but the rowlin’ an’ the rockin’ made me sick.  Thin we got fair jammed among the palanquins—­not more than fifty av them—­an’ we grated an’ bumped like Queenstown potato-smacks in a runnin’ tide.  I cud hear the women gigglin’ and squirkin’ in their palanquins, but mine was the royal equipage.  They made way for ut, an’, begad, the pink muslin men o’ mine were howlin’, “Room for the Maharanee av Gokral-Seetarun.”  Do you know aught av the lady, sorr?’

‘Yes,’ said I.  ’She is a very estimable old queen of the Central Indian States, and they say she is fat.  How on earth could she go to Benares without all the city knowing her palanquin?’

’’Twas the eternal foolishness av the naygur-man.  They saw the palanquin lying loneful an’ forlornsome, an’ the beauty av ut, after Dearsley’s men had dhropped ut and gone away, an’ they gave ut the best name that occurred to thim.  Quite right too.  For aught we know the ould lady was thravellin’ incog—­like me.  I’m glad to hear she’s fat.  I was no light weight mysilf, an’ my men were mortial anxious to dhrop me under a great big archway promiscuously ornamented wid the most improper carvin’s an’ cuttin’s I iver saw.  Begad! they made me blush—­like a—­like a Maharanee.’

‘The temple of Prithi-Devi,’ I murmured, remembering the monstrous horrors of that sculptured archway at Benares.

‘Pretty Devilskins, savin’ your presence, sorr!  There was nothin’ pretty about ut, except me.  ‘Twas all half dhark, an’ whin the coolies left they shut a big black gate behind av us, an’ half a company av fat yellow priests began pully-haulin’ the palanquins into a dharker place yet—­a big stone hall full av pillars, an’ gods, an’ incense, an’ all manner av similar thruck.  The gate disconcerted me, for I perceived I wud have to go forward to get out, my retreat bein’ cut off.  By the same token a good priest makes a bad palanquin-coolie.  Begad! they nearly turned me inside out draggin’ the palanquin to the temple.  Now the disposishin