He would have told the Bagree to wait, but Nana Sahib,
catching the name Hunsa, commanded:
"By all means, my dear Baptiste, have that living embodiment of murder
in. His face is a delight. You know"--and he smiled at the
General--"that that frightfulness of expression is the very reason why
the genial Kali has such a hold upon our people. You've seen her,
Baptiste; four arms, one holding a platter to catch the blood that
drips from a head she suspends above it by another arm; the third hand
clasps a sword, and the fourth has the palm spread out as much as to
say, 'That is what will happen to you.'"
The Frenchman shivered. He was snapping a finger and thumb in mental
torture.
But Nana Sahib chuckled: "Her tongue protrudes thirsting for more
blood--"
But the Sirdar protested: "Prince--pardon, but--"
"My dear Baptiste, when the Hunsa comes in observe if these things are
not all stamped by Brahm on his frontispiece; he fascinates me."
The Dewan, devout Brahmin, had been running his fingers along a string
of lacquered beads that hung about his neck, muttering a prayer against
this that was like sacrilege.
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