The king was dressed in green also, a fine figure in royal robes embroidered with a thousand allegorical designs.

He took his seat on a golden throne.
And little Prince Akbar! He was the one spot of colour! He was the flower of the whole garden! Dressed in rose satin of various shades, he looked indeed what Head-nurse had called him fondly, thus adding to her string of titles, "The Rose of the World." And now the great moment approaches! The little fellow takes his stand fearlessly below his father; before him the semicircle of green veiled ladies; a hundred in the first row, a hundred in the second row, a hundred in the third row.
But little Akbar's eyes as he stands there do not wander from row to row.

To tell the truth, his eyes are not open at all! He has them fast closed; for so, he knows, he can see his mother.
"Ladies! Unveil!" comes the king's voice.

It sounds a little anxious.
[Illustration: "_Ladies! unveil!_"] There is a rustling of silks and satins, a faint swishing of gauze and muslins, and three hundred faces flash out, like flowers against leaves, from their green draperies.
Which is Queen Humeeda's?
For an instant the child stands silent, his lips trembling, his face flushing.

Then his eyes open and he sees something.
What is it?
Is one face less smiling than another?
Where is it?
In the first row, or the second row, or the third row?
What matter?
There is a glad cry of---- "Amma-_jan_! My Amma-_jan_.