Nor was he long in coming.

I never remember to have been so much struck by the personal appearance of any man in my life.

He sat down opposite me, and immediately one of his two servants, or _khitmatgars_, as they are called, retired, and came back bearing a priceless goblet and flask of the purest old Venetian mould.

Filling the former, he ceremoniously presented his master with a brimming beaker of cold water.

A water-drinker in India is always a phenomenon, but a water-drinker who did the thing so artistically was such a manifestation as I had never seen.