"Why did you stare about the church at Mass this Easter morning, instead of reverently bowing your head in the company?"
"I stared about, Prince Vladimir," said the young man, "because I had heard tales of Kiev churches and of the richness of their beauty. But in this matter also, it is not with you as it is with us in India the Glorious. Your churches are of wooden beams with domes of timber, but ours are of stone with roofs of beaten gold. Our meanest houses are finer than your palaces of white stone. Your streets are foul with mire, but ours are cleanly swept and strewn with dry yellow sand.
"The steps of your royal palace," went on Diuk, "are of black stone with railings of turned wood fastened together with pegs of wood, and these rough pegs, as I know to my annoyance, catch the flowing robes of those who mount the steps. But the steps of my palace in India the Glorious are of smoothest ivory, and are spread with rugs of silk from Samarcand, while the railings are of polished ruddy gold on which no speck of dust is allowed to settle.
"The floor of this banquet-hall is of rough, uneven pine planks, and even these rough boards are a luxury for the high table and the great corner, while the rest of the hall is paved with coarse red brick. Your walls and ceiling are unpainted, your tables are of oak, and the cloths laid upon the most exalted are patterned with drawn threads. But the floors of our hall are of smooth ash timber in every part,
