“The King should have slain him at once—­” declared Ormaz emphatically, turning to Lysia as he spoke..  “I am surprised that His Majesty permitted so flagrant an impostor and trespasser of the law to speak one word, or live one moment in his royal presence.”

“Thou art surprised, Ormaz, at most things, especially those which savor of simple good-nature and forbearance...” responded Lysia coldly.  “Thou art a wolfish, youth, and wouldst tear thine own brother to shreds if he thwarted thy pleasure!  For myself I see little cause for astonishment, that a soldier-hero like Zephoranim should take some pity on so frail and aged a wreck of human wit as Khosrul.  Khosrul blasphemes the Faith, . . what then? ... do ye not all blaspheme?”

“Not in the open streets!” said Ormaz hastily.

“No—­ye have not the mettle for that!”—­and Lysia smiled darkly, while the great eye on her breast flashed forth a sardonic lustre—­ “Strong as ye all are, and young, ye lack the bravery of the weak old man who, mad as he may be, has at least the courage of his opinions!  Who is there here that believes in the Sun as a god, or in Nagaya as a mediator?  Not one, . . but ye are cultured hypocrites all, and careful to keep your heresies secret!”

“And thou, Lysia!” suddenly cried Nir-jalis, . .  “Why if thou canst so liberally admire the valor of thy sworn enemy Khosrul, why dost not thou step boldly forth, and abjure the Faith thou art Priestess of, yet in thy heart deridest as a miserable superstition?”

She turned her splendid flashing orbs slowly upon him, ... what an awful chill, steely glitter leaped forth from their velvet-soft depths!

“Prithee, be heedful of thy speech, good Nirjalis!” she said, with a quiver in her voice curiously like the suppressed snarl of her pet tigress..  “The majority of men are fools, ... like thee! ... and need to be ruled according to their folly!”

Ormaz broke into a laugh.  “And thou dost rule them, wise Virgin, with a rod of iron!” he said satirically ...  “The King himself is but a slave in thy hands!” “The King is a devout believer,”—­ remarked a dainty, effeminate-looking youth, arrayed in a wonderfully picturesque garb of glistening purple,—­“He pays his vows to Nagaya three times a day, at sunrise, noon, and sunset,—­ and ’tis said he hath oft been seen of late in silent meditation alone before the Sacred Veil, even after midnight.  Maybe he is there at this very moment, offering up a royal petition for those of his less pious subjects who, like ourselves, love good wine more than long prayers.  Ah!—­he is a most austere and noble monarch,—­a very anchorite and pattern of strict religious discipline!  “And he shook his head to and fro with an air of mock solemn fervor.  Every one laughed, . . and Ormaz playfully threw a cluster of half-crushed roses at the speaker.

“Hold thy foolish tongue, Pharnim,—­” he said,—­“The King doth but show a fitting example to his people, . . there is a time to pray, and a time to feast, and our Zephoranim can do both as becomes a man.  But of his midnight meditations I have heard naught, . . since when hath he deserted his Court of Love for the colder chambers of the Sacred Temple?”