My husband came in at this juncture. Sandip had not the elasticity to recover himself in a moment, as he used to do before. My husband looked at him for a while in surprise. Had this happened some days ago I should have felt ashamed. But today I was pleased--whatever my husband might think. I wanted to have it out to the finish with my weakening adversary. Finding us both silent and constrained, my husband hesitated a little, and then took a chair. "Sandip," he said, "I have been looking for you, and was told you were here." "I am here," said Sandip with some emphasis. "Queen Bee sent for me early this morning. And I, the humble worker of the hive, left all else to attend her summons." "I am going to Calcutta tomorrow. You will come with me. "And why, pray? Do you take me for one of your retinue?" "Oh, very well, take it that you are going to Calcutta, and that I am your follower." "I have no business there." "All the more reason for going. You have too much business here." "I don't propose to stir." "Then I propose to shift you." "Forcibly?" "Forcibly." "Very well, then, I will make a move. But the world is not divided between Calcutta and your estates. There are other places on the map." "From the way you have been going on, one would hardly have thought that there was any other place in the world except my estates." Sandip stood up. "It does happen at times," he said, "that a man's whole world is reduced to a single spot. I have realized my universe in this sitting-room of yours, that is why I have been a fixture here." Then he turned to me. "None but you, Queen Bee," he said, "will understand my words--perhaps not even you. I salute you. With worship in my heart I leave you. My watchword has changed since you have come across my vision. It is no longer __Bande Mataram__ (Hail Mother), but Hail Beloved, Hail Enchantress. The mother protects, the mistress leads to destruction--but sweet is that destruction. You have made the anklet sounds of the dance of death tinkle in my heart. You have changed for me, your devotee, the picture I had of this Bengal of ours--'the soft breeze-cooled land of pure water and sweet fruit.' [27] You have no pity, my beloved. You have come to me with your poison cup and I shall drain it, either to die in agony or live triumphing over death.