Darius lay upon a couch on one side of the low table, and Atossa was opposite to him.  The air was dry and intensely hot, and on each side two black fan-girls plied their palm-leaves silently with all their might.  The king lay back upon his cushions, his head uncovered, and all his shaggy curls of black hair tossed behind him, his broad, strong hand circling a plain goblet of gold that stood beside him on the table.  For once, he had laid aside his breastplate, and a vest of white and purple fell loosely over his tunic; but his sword of keen Indian steel lay within reach upon the floor.

Atossa had raised herself upon her elbow, and her clear blue eyes were fixed upon the king’s face, thoughtfully, as though expecting that he would say something.  Contrary to all custom, she wore a Greek tunic with short sleeves caught at the shoulders by golden buckles, and her fair hair was gathered into a heavy knot, low down, behind her head.  Her dazzling arms and throat were bare, but above her right elbow she wore a thick twisted snake of gold, her only ornament.

“The king is not athirst to-night,” said Atossa at last, watching the full goblet that he grasped, but did not raise.

“I am not always thirsty,” answered Darius moodily.  “Would you have me always drunk, like a Babylonian dog?”

“No; nor always sober, like a Persian captain.”

“What Persian captain?” asked the king, suddenly looking at her and knitting his brows.

“Why, like him, whom, for his sobriety you have sent to-day on the way to Nineveh,” answered Atossa.

“I have sent no one to Nineveh to-day.”

“To Ecbatana then, to inquire whether I told you the truth about my poor servant Phraortes—­Fravartish, as you call him,” said the queen, with a flash of spite in her blue eyes.

“I assure you,” answered the king, laughing, “that it is solely on account of your remarkable beauty that I have not had you strangled.  So soon as you grow ugly you shall surely die.  It is very unwise of me, as it is!”

The queen, too, laughed, a low, silvery laugh.

“I am greatly indebted for my life,” said she.  “I am very beautiful, I am aware, but I am no longer the most beautiful woman in the world.”  She spoke without a trace of annoyance in her voice or face, as though it were a good jest.

“No,” said Darius, thoughtfully.  “I used to think that you were.  It is in the nature of man to change his opinion.  You are, nevertheless, very beautiful—­I admire your Greek dress.”

“Shall I send my tirewoman with one like it to Nehushta?” inquired Atossa, raising her delicate eyebrows, with a sweet smile.

“You will not need to improve her appearance in order that she may find favour in my eyes,” answered Darius, laughing.  “But the jest is good.  You would rather send her an Indian snake than an ornament.”

“Yes,” returned the queen, who understood the king’s strange character better than any one.  “You cannot in honesty expect me not to hate a woman whom you think more beautiful than me!  It would hardly be natural.  It is unfortunate that she should prefer the sober Persian captain to the king himself.”