“I—­weep before the king!  You do not know me.  Go, if thou wilt.  Farewell, Zoroaster,”—­her voice softened a little,—­“farewell.  It may be that you shall live, but it may be that you shall die, because I love you.”

Zoroaster bent his head in respectful homage, and turned and went his way.  The queen looked after him, and as he disappeared upon the staircase, she began to smooth her head-dress and the locks of her golden hair, and for a moment, she smiled sweetly to herself.

“That was a mortal wound, well dealt,” she said aloud.  But as she gazed out over the city, her face grew grave and thoughtful.  “But I do love him,” she added softly, “I do—­I do—­I loved him long ago.”  She turned quickly, as though fearing some one had overheard her.  “How foolish I am!” she exclaimed impatiently; and she turned and passed away under the heavy curtain, leaving the long balcony once more empty,—­save for the rush of a swallow that now and then flew in between the pillars, and hovered for a moment high up by the cornice, and sped out again into the golden sunshine of the summer morning.

Zoroaster left Atossa with the hope of finding some means of seeing Nehushta.  But it was impossible.  He knew well that he could not so far presume as to go to her apartment by the lower passage where he had last seen her on the day of his departure for Ecbatana, and the slave whom he despatched from the main entrance of the women’s part of the palace returned with the brief information that Nehushta was alone in her chamber, and that no one dared disturb her.

Worn out with fatigue and excitement, and scarcely able to think connectedly upon the strange event of the morning, Zoroaster wearily resigned himself to seeing Nehushta at a later hour, and entering his own cool chamber, lay down to rest.  It was evening when he awoke.

Meanwhile the king commanded that Phraortes should be fed and refreshed, and immediately brought to the queen’s apartment.  Half an hour after Zoroaster had left her, Atossa was in the chamber which was devoted to her toilet.  She sat alone before her great silver mirror, calmly awaiting the turn of events.  Some instinct had told her that she would feel stronger to resist an attack in the sanctuary of her small inner room, where every object was impregnated with her atmosphere, and where the lattices of the two windows were so disposed that she would be able to see the expression of her adversaries without exposing her own face to the light.

She leaned forward and looked closely at herself in the glass, and with a delicate brush of camel’s hair smoothed one eyebrow that was a little ruffled.  It had touched Zoroaster’s tunic when she threw herself upon his breast; she looked at herself with a genuine artistic pleasure, and smiled.

Before long she heard the sound of leathern shoes upon the pavement outside, and the curtain was suddenly lifted.  Darius pushed Phraortes into the room by the shoulders and made him stand before the queen.  She rose and made a salutation, and then sat down again in her carved chair.  The king threw himself upon a heap of thick, hard cushions that formed a divan on one side of the room, and prepared to watch attentively the two persons before him.