"That confounded Little Bonsa," he thought. "Am I expected to spend the
rest of my life with it on my head like the man in the iron mask?"
Then he put up his hand and felt the thing, to find that it was not
Little Bonsa, but something made apparently of thin, fine linen, fitted
to the shape of his face, for there was a nose on it, and eyeholes
through which he could see, yes, and a mouth whereof the lips by some
ingenious contrivance could be moved up and down.
"Little Bonsa's undress uniform, I expect," he muttered, and tried to
drag it off. This, however, proved to be impossible, for it was fitted
tightly to his head and laced or fastened at the back of his neck so
securely that he could not undo it. Being still weak, soon he gave up
the attempt and began to look about him.
He was in a litter, a very fine litter hung round with beautifully
woven and coloured grass mats, inside of which were a kind of couch and
cushions of soft wool or hair, so arranged that he could either sit up
or lie down. He peeped between two of these mats and saw that they were
travelling in a mountainous country over a well-beaten road or trail,
and that his litter was borne upon the shoulders of a double line of
white-robed men, while all around him marched numbers of other men.
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