now. Why don't you try to sleep a little?' 'I have been doing nothing else for days, Piari. How long have I had this fever?'
'Thirteen days.' She immediately became grave, and said with a seriousness worthy of an elderly matron, 'Please don't call me by that name before the boys. You have always called me Lakshmi;[1] why not call me that?'
I had recovered my normal consciousness two days before; I remembered the incidents of the last two days, 'All right,' I said. Then recalling the subject I had wanted to discuss with her, 'You are trying to move me, but I have given you a lot of trouble already, and I don't want to give you any more.'
'What do you want to do then?'
'I think that if I remain here as I am I shall be all right in three or four days more. You had better stay here these few days and then go home.'
'What will you do then, if I may ask?'
'Something or other.'
'Probably,' rejoined Piari with a smile. Then she rose and seated herself on the edge of my cot. She gazed at me for a few moments and then, smiling again, said, 'I know this fever will be cured in eight or ten days, if not in three or four, as you say. But will you tell me when you will be cured of your real malady?'
'My real malady? And what may that be, pray?'
- ↑ Lakshmi from Raj-lakshmi, Piari being the name she was known by as a singing-girl. 'Piari' means 'dear' or 'a darling' and is not a name for respectable ladies.
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