“But, my dear lady, your behavior calls for nothing but praise.” “Human nature is more prone to blame than praise,” answered the hostess bitterly, and gave the signal to the ladies for departure. “We will leave you to smoke with the other gentlemen, Mr. Fuller, and afterwards you can come and talk to me in the drawing-room. Alonzo you will probably see when he opens the door for your departure,” and with a stiff bow she left the room at the head of the shabbily-dressed females, who thus followed the customs of the west end. For a time Alan was left severely alone, and smoked his cigarette in silence, since the men seemed to be too shy to venture on conversation, and had many matters to discuss among themselves. But after a time Mr. Bakche left his seat and moved to a chair at the young man’s elbow, offering, as he sat down, his cigarette-case, which was well filled. “You will find these particularly good,” said Mr. Bakche in a deep and mellow voice, which accorded well with his grave dignity. “I received them from a friend of mine in Constantinople.” “Thank you,” answered the solicitor readily, and anxious to respond to this politeness, “you are very kind.” “The kindness is on your part, Mr. Fuller.” “You know my name, Mr. Bakche?” “And you know mine, I observe. We have made mutual inquiries about one another, no doubt. Mr. Potter informed me about you; and Miss Grison, I presume, gave information about me.” “Yes,” assented Fuller easily. “She tells me that you are an Indian prince!” Bakche laughed in a silent manner. “She places me too high, Mr. Fuller, I assure you,” he responded quietly. “I come of a princely family, but I am not of princely rank. You can look upon me as a plain Mahometan gentleman of Tartar descent.” “Of Tartar descent,” echoed Fuller, who found his companion interesting. “Yes. Did Miss Grison tell you my full name?” “Morad-Bakche! Indeed she did and gave me its meaning.” “‘Desire-accomplished,’” said the other, with half a sigh, “although I fear that my desire will never be accomplished. However, that is by the way. I wonder, Mr. Fuller, if you have read the ‘History of the Moguls.’” “I regret to say that I have not.” “Well, it is rather an unusual book for anyone to read unless he is a student. But you will find mentioned therein my ancestor, after whom I am called. He was also Morad-Bakche, the youngest son of Shah Jahan, who was descended from Timur the Tartar. My family were rich and famous when the Mogul emperors ruled at Delhi, but everything belonging to us was swept away in the Mutiny, as you English call it.” “I can quite understand that you give it a different name,” said Alan sympathetically. “You naturally desired to be free.”