It seemed he did not dare do anything! He racked his opium-dulled brain for a suspicion of a plan that might help solve the difficulty, until his eye--wandering around the courtyard--fell on the black shape of a woman.

She was old and bent and she was busied, with a handful of dry twigs, pretending to sweep around the stables.
"Who is that mother of corruption ?" demanded Jaimihr; and a man came running to him.
"Who is that eyesore?
I have never seen her, have I ?" "Highness, she is a beggar woman.

She sat by the gate, and pretended to a power of telling fortunes--which it would seem she does possess in some degree.

It was thought better that she should use her gift in here, for our advantage, than outside to our disadvantage.

So she was brought in and set to sweeping." "By the curse of the sin of the sack of Chitor, is my palace, then, a midden for the crawling offal of all the Howrah streets?
First this Rangar--next a sweeper hag--what follows?
What bring you next?
Go, fetch the street dogs in!" "Highness, she is useful and costs nothing but the measure or two of meal she eats." "A horse eats little more!" the angry Prince retorted, perfectly accustomed to being argued with by his own servants.