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The Parsee, leading the others, noiselessly crept through the wood,
and in ten minutes they found themselves on the banks of a small stream,
whence, by the light of the rosin torches, they perceived a pyre of wood,
on the top of which lay the embalmed body of the rajah, which was to be
burned with his wife. The pagoda, whose minarets loomed above the trees
in the deepening dusk, stood a hundred steps away.
"Come!" whispered the guide.
He slipped more cautiously than ever through the brush,
followed by his companions; the silence around was only broken
by the low murmuring of the wind among the branches.
Soon the Parsee stopped on the borders of the glade, which was lit up
by the torches. The ground was covered by groups of the Indians,
motionless in their drunken sleep; it seemed a battlefield strewn
with the dead. Men, women, and children lay together.
In the background, among the trees, the pagoda of Pillaji
loomed distinctly. Much to the guide's disappointment,
the guards of the rajah, lighted by torches, were watching
at the doors and marching to and fro with naked sabres;
probably the priests, too, were watching within.
The Parsee, now convinced that it was impossible to force
an entrance to the temple, advanced no farther, but led his
companions back again. Phileas Fogg and Sir Francis Cromarty
also saw that nothing could be attempted in that direction.
They stopped, and engaged in a whispered colloquy.
"It is only eight now," said the brigadier, "and these guards
may also go to sleep."
"It is not impossible," returned the Parsee.
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