Vajramukut, who had been engaged in adorning himself at least
half that day. He had carefully shaved his cheeks and chin; his
mustachio was trimmed and curled; he had arched his eyebrows by
plucking out with tweezers the fine hairs around them; he had
trained his curly musk-coloured love-locks to hang gracefully
down his face; he had drawn broad lines of antimony along his
eyelids, a most brilliant sectarian mark was affixed to his forehead,
the colour of his lips had been heightened by chewing betel-nut --

"One would imagine that you are talking of a silly girl, not of a
prince, fiend!" interrupted Vikram, who did not wish his son to
hear what he called these fopperies and frivolities.

-- and whitened his neck by having it shaved (continued the Baital,
speaking quickly, as if determined not to be interrupted), and
reddened the tips of his ears by squeezing them, and made his teeth
shine by rubbing copper powder into the roots, and set off the
delicacy of his fingers by staining the tips with henna. He had not
been less careful with his dress: he wore a well-arranged turband,
which had taken him at least two hours to bind, and a rich suit of
brown stuff chosen for the adventure he was about to attempt, and
he hung about his person a number of various weapons, so as to
appear a hero -- which young damsels admire.

Vajramukut asked his friend how he looked, and smiled happily
when the other replied "Admirable!" His happiness was so great
that he feared it might not last, and he asked the minister's son how
best to conduct himself?

"As a conqueror, my prince!" answered that astute young man, "if