Time to go? Yes, time to go, but not to the Court. What does Your Majesty mean? Haven't you heard? The bell has just been rung to dismiss the Court. When? What bell? We haven't heard any bell. How could you hear? They have rung it in my ears alone. Oh, Sire. No one can have had the impertinence to do that. Vizier! They are ringing it now. Pardon me, Sire, if I am very stupid; but I cannot understand. Look at this, Vizier, look at this. Your Majesty's hair---- Can't you see there's a bell-ringer there? Oh, Your Majesty. Are you playing a joke? The joke is not mine, but His, who has got the whole world by the ear, and is having His jest. Last night, when the Queen was putting a garland of jasmines round my neck, she cried out with alarm, "King, what is this? Here are two grey hairs behind your ear." Oh, please, Sire, don't worry so much about a little thing like that. Why! The royal physician---- Vizier! The founder of our dynasty had his royal physician, too. But what could he do? Death has left his card of invitation behind my ear. The Queen wanted, then and there, to pluck out the grey hairs. But I said, "Queen, what's the use? You may remove Death's invitation, but can you remove Death, the Inviter?" So, for the present---- Yes, Sire, for the present, let us attend to business. Business, Vizier! I have no time for business. Send for the Pundit. Send for Sruti-bhushan. But, Sire, the General---- The General?--No, no, not the General. Send for the Pundit. But, the news from the frontier---- Vizier, the news has come to me from the last great frontier of all, the frontier of Death. Send for the Pundit. But if Your Majesty will give me one moment, the Ambassador from the great Emperor of China---- Vizier, a greater Emperor has sent his embassy to me. Call Sruti-bhushan. Very well, Sire. But your father-in-law---- It is not my father-in-law whom I want now. Send for the Pundit. But, if it please you to hear me this once. The poet, Kabi-shekhar, is waiting with his new book called the _Garden of Poesy_. Let your poet disport himself, jumping about on the topmost branches of his Garden of Poesy, but send for the Pundit. Very well, Sire. I will send for him at once. Tell him to bring his book of devotions with him, called the _Ocean of Renunciation_. Yes, Sire. But, Vizier. Who are those outside making all that noise? Go out and stop them at once. I must have peace. If it please Your Majesty, there is a famine in Nagapatam and the headmen of the villages are praying to be allowed to see your face. My time is short, Vizier. I must have peace. They say their time is shorter. They are at death's door. They, too, want peace,--peace from the burning of hunger. Vizier! The burning of hunger is quenched at last on the funeral pyre. Then these wretched people----