The action was an ordinary one of gratitude, yet enough to admit of Fazil's passing a well-known signal of silence to the man as he removed his hands, while the old Khan cried grimly---- "Make your reverence to your God, if you have one, not to my son. Is he an idol, that you bow down to him?" "I mean no offence; pardon me, my lord," said the Lalla, humbly. "I was only----" The opening of the door interrupted the Lalla's speech, which would have been very flowery and hyperbolic. An attendant entered and spoke to the Kótwal. "My lord, Kowas Khan has arrived; is he to be admitted?" "Tell him I kiss his hands; I am engaged with these worthy gentlemen," returned Jehándar Beg, looking round; "and pray ask him to excuse me for a short time. If he would like a hooka, or coffee, or sherbet, let him have all he desires." "And his attendants?" "Let any of proper rank sit with him, the rest can remain in the outer court." "Very good, my lord," said the servant, and he shut the door. During this interruption, a very pretty piece of pantomime had been executed between the eyes of Fazil and the Lalla. It would have been more complete, perhaps, could Fazil have used his hands also, but he dare not. As it was, however, the Lalla seemed to understand all that was required; and the delightfully comprehensive manner in which he half shut his eyes, bowed his head, and smiled blandly though almost imperceptibly, would have been fit example for any diplomatist. Nothing could be seen by the Kótwal, for, in order to speak to the servant, it had been requisite for him to lean behind the Lalla's back. Jehándar Beg lost two points by his movement; one we have seen, the other was a more serious one. For as he moved, the letters which had been given to him by Moro Trimmul's agent, and which he had put into a side-pocket of his dress, protruded a little as he reached over, and, when he settled himself again, remained projecting half out of that receptacle. He was not aware of it, but they attracted Fazil's immediate attention. These he must have at any risk--for he had seen the seal of the rebel Rajah on them--and he again roused his father by the short cough they had agreed upon. "Now, Lallajee, tell us all. You see you are among friends; but we are hungry for fruit--flowers do not satisfy us," said Jehándar Beg, jocosely rubbing his hands, and speaking in Persian, his own language. "My lords, what can I say?" returned the Lalla, simply. "I am what you see, a poor scholar. Delhi is full of such, and we are starving. Every one said, 'Go to the King of the Dekhan; he is wise, he is generous, he is accomplished; he is a patron of literature.' So your poor servant prepared two copies of verses; one in Sanscrit, in which the third letter of every line is the same, T----"