'And, Dan,' she said, when the _tête-à-tête_ had lasted long enough, 'as you are going to Delhi, you might take a parcel for me to Manohar Lâl, the jeweller's. It is quite small, but you might just send it round--the shop is in the Chowk--by the bearer. I wouldn't trouble you, but it is a chance, as you are going that way. It won't bother you, will it?' 'Bother,' echoed Dan in the tones which men in his condition use on such occasions. 'Then, I'll give it you now. I was going to send it by post, so it is addressed, and all the instructions are inside; but it would be safer if you took it--as you happen to be going.' She repeated the phrase as if to convince herself of its truth. Yet when, on returning with her commission, Dan seized the opportunity of taking the parcel to kiss the fingers which held it, she felt something of a traitor. Even though, in sending the jewels she had found to be appraised, she told herself she had no other intention beyond, if possible, getting enough money to repay the loan she had so unwisely taken. That was all; and this chance of sending to Delhi by a safe hand had decided her so far--no more. 'Good-bye, dear Dan,' she said; 'I always miss you so much when you go away.' That night Chândni reported progress to the Diwân. The mem's ayah had let out that the big Huzoor, Fitzgerald sahib, was the greatest friend the mem had. She must be a regular bad one, if all tales were true. And the big sahib was going to Delhi, the most likely place in which jewels would be sold. She would write to her craft, who were good clients of the goldsmiths, and bid them keep a sharp look-out. It would at least do no harm. 'Thy father must have been the devil,' said Zubr-ul-Zamân admiringly; 'yet will I reward thee, as thou hast asked, if all goes well. 'Does not all go well?' laughed the woman. 'The fire, and the fall?' 'And the girl?' 'Oh, naught of the girl!--the lance-player hits not the peg first time. That part is done, that tune played, for good or evil. The bridegroom, they say, comes next week. 'Tis well; we want no evil eye to change the luck.' CHAPTER XI The _dîners à la russe_ on the roof had not passed unnoticed by the world below. How could they? Over such strange doings curious tongues must need wag, setting other curious eyes to peep and peer; especially in the women's apartments, where life was so empty of novelty and where a crowded squabbling glimpse, from some lattice, of arrival or departure was all the inmates could hope for, beyond, of course, the ceremonial visit which the English ladies paid to a circle of selected wives.