I am a Brahmin, because they alone will free Mahrattaland--faith,
ideals. Forms! the gods to me are not more than show-pieces. That
Kali spreads the cholera is one with the idea that the little
red-daubed stone Linga gets the woman a male child, false; these things
are in ourselves, and in Brahm. The priests sacrifice to Shiva, but I
will sacrifice to Mahrattaland, which to me is the supreme God."

Jean Baptiste looked out of his wise grey eyes into the handsome face
and felt a thrill, an awakening, the terrible sincerity of the speaker.
At times the ferocity in the eyes when he had spoken of sacrifice
caused the free-lance soldier to shiver. A blur of red floated before
his eyes--something of a fateful forecasting that some day the awful
storm that was brewing would break, and the fanatical Brahmin in front
of him would call for English blood to glut his hate. It was the more
appalling that Nana Sahib was so young. Closing his eyes Baptiste
heard the voice of an English Oxonian that perhaps should be chortling
of polo and cricket and racing; and yet the more danger--the
youthfulness of the agent of destruction; like a Napoleon--a corporal
as a boy. "_C'est la guerre_!" the French officer murmured.

Then, as a storm passing is often followed by smiling sunshine, so the
mood of Nana Sahib changed. He had the volatile temperament of a
Latin, and now he turned to the Minister, his face having undergone a
complete metamorphosis: "Dewani," he said, "do you remember when a
certain raja sent his Prime Minister and twenty thousand men to punish
Pertab for not paying his taxes, and Pertab gave one Bhart, a Bagree,
ten thousand rupees and a village to bring him the Minister's
head--which he did, tied to the inside of his brass-studded shield?"

"Yes, Prince; that is a way of this land."