So we rose and followed the obsequious official into another apartment.
The room where the maharajah awaited us was even smaller than the one into which we had been first shown.

It was on the back of the house, and only half lighted by the few rays of afternoon sun that struggled through the dense foliage outside.

I suppose this apartment had been chosen as the scene of the interview on account of its seclusion.
Outside the window, which was closed, a sowar paced slowly up and down to keep away any curious listeners.

A heavy curtain hung before the door through which we had entered.

I thought that on the whole the place seemed pretty safe.
The old maharajah sat cross-legged upon a great pile of dark-red cushions, his slippers by his side, and a huge hookah before him.