"No," said Chumbley, good-humouredly, "not much. It seems tiresome to you because you are standing. Sit down, man, and listen. I feel quite like an Eastern speaker of parables. It is the atmosphere, I suppose. I was saying that the birds that are caught are of two kinds--those that take it coolly and those that don't. Those that don't keep on beating their breasts against the bars, and knocking their feathers off in the most insane way, till they die, looking exceedingly bare and uncomfortable; while those that take it coolly sit upon the perches, set up their feathers till they look nice and plump, and keep on saying `_chiswick_' except when they stop to eat their seed." "And, most profound moralist, the restless, brave-hearted birds that breast the bars are the truest," cried Hilton. "I would not be so spiritless and craven for worlds." "Stuff!" said Chumbley. "Nobody's going to wring your neck and put you in a pie; then it would be uncomfortable. The Princess only wants you to sing. I say, I think I shall ask her if she means to give us the seed that is becoming necessary in the shape of dinner." The Inche Maida turned round. "I could not help being a listener, Mr Chumbley," she said, quietly; "and surely you did not suppose that you could both talk like that unheard. Now let me speak before I go." Chumbley bowed, and Hilton folded his arms, leaning against the wall, while his friend slowly rose, and once more offered the Princess a seat. "No!" she cried, angrily. "I can only sit with my friends, and you persist in treating me as an enemy. As Captain Hilton's friend, I ask pardon for the roughness of my people. Can I do more?" "Well, yes," said Chumbley; "after we have granted your pardon, you can set us free!" "That I shall not do!" she cried, with her eyes flashing. "Not now, Princess," said Chumbley, speaking calmly, seriously and well; "but after a little reflection. You do not realise the power of England, madam. You do not know what our Government will always do to maintain the honour and prestige of our nation." "No," she said, scornfully, "I do not." "Let me tell you then," said Chumbley, with a return of his dry, sarcastic manner; "I am of no consequence whatever as compared to our handsome young captain there." "I think you a ten times better man, and one hundred times as much a gentleman," cried the Princess, hotly; and her eyes flashed indignation at them both. "Oh, no," said Chumbley; "you are angry and indignant, and you forget that we are, too. How can we be pleased that you have so roughly brought us here?" "But you ought to be, and very proud," she cried sharply. "Well, we will not argue that," said Chumbley; "but I wish to tell you that you must think this over carefully and well. Insignificant as we two men may be, it touches England's honour that a Malay ruler should seize us and make us prisoners." "I care not," she retorted. "I have thought it over well."