Srikanta
matter. Because, however well you may know the art of dressing up your stories, we understand human nature. We can emphatically assert that the image of her ideal character could never have been present in your mind; for if it had been, this base counterfeit would not have obtained a foothold there.'
I dare say. But no more arguments. I have learned that man never completely understands himself. I know under the influence of what ideal I have been 'preaching' my thoughts about womanhood. So when, on reading this history, people declare that Srikanta is a humbug and a hypocrite, I must perforce hold my tongue. I have never consciously practised hypocrisy. My only fault has been that I was unaware of the weakness that lay hidden in my character.
'Babu Saheb!' The prince’s servant was calling me. I sat up in bed, and he respectfully informed me that the prince and his retinue were eagerly waiting to hear of my adventures of the previous night. I asked him how they had learned of my adventure. 'The door-keeper to His Highness's tent,' he answered, 'told them, sir, that you came back just before dawn.'
As soon as I entered the prince's tent a great commotion arose. A thousand eager questions were levelled at me. The elderly gentleman of the previous night was among those present, and Piari with her attendants was sitting in silence at one side. We did not exchange glances this morning as before: she appeared to be oblivious of my presence.
'All honour to your courage, Srikanta,' said the prince, when the hubbub had subsided. 'When did you reach the cremation-grounds last night?'
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