“Come into the sunlight—­the morning air is cold,” she said, “I would speak with thee awhile.”

A carved chair stood in a corner of the balcony.  Zoroaster moved it into the sunshine, and Atossa sat down, smiling her thanks to him, while he stood leaning against the balustrade,—­a magnificent figure as the light caught his gilded harness and gold neckchain, and played on his long fair beard and nestled in the folds of his purple mantle.

“Tell me—­you came last night?” she asked, spreading her dainty hands in the sunshine as though to warm them.  She never feared the sun, for he was friendly to her nativity and never seemed to scorch her fair skin like that of meaner women.

“Thy servant came last night,” answered the prince.

“Bringing Nehushta and the other Hebrews?” added the queen.

“Even so.”

“Tell me something of this Nehushta,” said Atossa.  She had dropped into a more familiar form of speech.  But Zoroaster was careful of his words and never allowed his language to relapse from the distant form of address of a subject to his sovereign.

“The queen knoweth her.  She was here as a young child a few years since,” he replied.  He chose to let Atossa ask questions for all the information she needed.

“It is so long ago,” she said, with a little sigh.  “Is she fair?”

“Nay, she is dark, after the manner of the Hebrews.”

“And the Persians too,” she interrupted.

“She is very beautiful,” continued Zoroaster.  “She is very tall.”  Atossa looked up quickly with a smile.  She was not tall herself, with all her Beauty.

“You admire tall women?”

“Yes,” said Zoroaster calmly—­well knowing what he said.  He did not wish to flatter the queen; and besides he knew her too well to do so if he wished to please her.  She was one of those women who are not accustomed to doubt their own superiority over the rest of their sex.

“Then you admire this Hebrew princess?” said she, and paused for an answer.  But her companion was as cold and calm as she.  Seeing himself directly pressed by a suspicion, he changed his tactics and flattered Atossa for the sake of putting a stop to her questions.

“Height is not of itself beauty,” he answered with a courteous smile.  “There is a kind of beauty which no height can improve,—­a perfection which needs not to be set high for all men to acknowledge it.”

The queen simply took no notice of the compliment, but it had its desired effect, for she changed the tone of her talk a little, speaking more seriously.

“Where is she?  I will go and see her,” she said.

“She rested last night in the upper chambers in the southern part of the palace.  Thy servant will bid her come if it be thy desire.”

“Presently, presently,” answered the queen.  “It is yet early, and she was doubtless weary of the journey.”

There was a pause.  Zoroaster looked down at the beautiful queen as she sat beside him, and wondered whether she had changed; and as he gazed, he fell to comparing her beauty with Nehushta’s, and his glance grew more intent than he had meant it should be, so that Atossa looked up suddenly and met his eyes resting on her face.