Chapter 9

_The bed-chamber of the King_--_vast and shadowy_. _On heaped-up cushions and covers of yellow and blue_, _under a pearl-sewn creamy velvet baldaquin_, _embroidered with peacocks_, _lies_ MENG BENG, _mortally stricken_; _his face bears the ashen pallor that only dark skins know_. _The ministers_, _the servants_, _the courtiers_, _the countless motley gathering of an Eastern Court are scattered in anxious groups_, _watching_, _waiting_, _murmuring_. _Only the space near the couch is clear_. _Without_, _the dawn breaks over the sea_, _and_, _stealing through the opening_, _makes the great chamber flush till it looks like porphyry_.

_The tolling of a deep gong and the voices of a myriad birds invade the throbbing silence of the Palace_.

"He passes," _murmur the physicians_. _Everyone's gaze turns to the dying man_.

"Yet his star is in the ascendant," _say the astrologers_. _The risen sun touches him with its light like a caress_. _He opens his eyes_. _His sons advance_. _They raise him high on his cushions and give a restorative_. _The end has come_. _Suddenly he rallies slightly_.

_The doors at the far end are rudely opened_. _A woman_, _young and lovely_, _advances_, _thrusting roughly aside the many hands stretched out to bar her path_.

_She reaches the King_.

"I bring you life, Star of my Soul," _she cries_, "I bring you life," _and so saying_, _falls dead at his feet_.

_The Courtiers rush forward_.

_The King rises_.

_He stands erect_.

_The sun lies like a golden benediction over all_.

_Jewels glitter_.

_The whole world of birds sing_.

THE CURTAIN FALLS

Footnotes:

{4} One of the greatest feasts of the Buddhist year.

{6} Spire.

{32} Fairy.