surely be more or less conscious of his superiority to those who have no genius?  Yet why?  May it not happen, on occasions, that the so-called fool shall teach a lesson to the so-called wise man?  Then where is the wise man’s superiority if a fool can instruct him?  Theos found these suggestions curiously puzzling; they seemed simple enough, and yet they opened up a vista of intricate disquisition which he was in no humor to follow.  To escape from his own reflections he began to pay close attention to the conversation going on around him, and listened with an eager, almost painful interest, whenever he heard Lysia’s sweet, languid voice chiming through the clatter of men’s tongues like the silver stroke of a small bell ringing in a storm at sea.

“And how hast thou left thy pale beauty Niphrata?” she was asking Sah-luma in half-cold, half-caressing accents.  “Does her singing still charm thee as of yore?  I understand thou hast given her her freedom.  Is that prudent?  Was she not safer as thy slave?”

Sah-luma glanced up quickly in surprise.  “Safer?  She is as safe as a rose in its green sheath,” he replied.  “What harm should come to her?”

“I spoke not of harm,” said Lysia, with a lazy smile.  “But the day may come, good minstrel, when thy sheathed rose may seek some newer sunshine than thy face! ... when thy much poesy may pall upon her spirit, and thy love-songs grow stale! ... and she may string her harp to a different tune than the perpetual adoration-hymn of Sah-luma!”

The handsome Laureate looked amused.

“Let her do so then!” he laughed carelessly.  “Were she to leave me I should not miss her greatly; a thousand pieces of gold will purchase me another voice as sweet as hers,—­another maid as fair!  Meanwhile the child is free to shape her own fate,—­her own future.  I bind her no longer to my service; nevertheless, like the jessamine-flower, she clings,—­and will not easily unwind the tendrils of her heart from mine.”

“Poor jessamine-flower!” murmured Lysia negligently, with a touch of malice in her tone.  “What a rock it doth embrace; how little vantage-ground it hath wherein to blossom!” And her drowsy eyes shot forth a fiery glance from under their heavily fringed drooping white lids.

Sah-luma met her look with one of mingled vexation and reproach; she smiled and raising a goblet of wine to her lips, kissed the brim, and gave it to him with an indescribably graceful, swaying gesture of her whole form that reminded one of a tall white lily bowing in the breeze.  He seized the cup eagerly, drank from it and returned it,—­his momentary annoyance, whatever it was, passed, and a joyous elation illumined his fine features.  Then Lysia, refilling the cup, kissed it again and handed it to Theos with so much soft animation and tenderness in her face as she turned to him, that his enforced calmness nearly gave way, and he had much ado to restrain himself from falling at her feet in a transport of passion, and crying out! ...  “Love me, O thou sorceress-sovereign of beauty! ... love me, if only for an hour, and then let me die! ... for I shall have lived out all the joys of life in one embrace of thine!” His hand trembled as he took the goblet, and he drank half its contents thirstily,—­then imitating Sah-luma’s example, he returned it to her with a profound salutation.  Her eyes dwelt meditatively upon him.