through the lowered pale-blue silken awnings:  the effect of the room thus shadowed was as of a soft azure mountain mist lit sideways by the sun,—­a mist through which the white-garmented, symmetrical figure of the Laureate stood forth in curiously brilliant outlines, as though every curve of supple shoulder and proud throat was traced with a pencil of pure light.  Scarcely a breath of air made its way through the wide-open casements—­the gentle dashing noise of the fountains in the court alone disturbed the deep, warm stillness of the morning, or the occasional sweeping rustle of peacocks’ plumes as these stately birds strutted majestically up and down, up and down, on the marble terrace outside.

Soothed by the luxurious peace of his surroundings, the delirium of Theos’s bewildering affliction gradually abated,—­his tempest-tossed mind regained to a certain extent its equilibrium,—­and falling into easy converse with his fascinating companion, he was soon himself again,—­that is, as much himself as his peculiar condition permitted him to be.  Yet he was not altogether free from a certain eager and decidedly painful suspense with regard to the “Nourhalma” problem,—­and he was conscious of what he in his own opinion considered an absurd and unnecessary degree of excitement, when the door of the apartment presently opened to admit Zabastes, who entered, carrying several sheets of papyrus and other material for writing.

The old Critic’s countenance was expressively glum and ironical,—­ he, however, was compelled, like all the other paid servants of the household, to make a low and respectful obeisance as soon as he found himself in Sah-luma’s presence,—­an act of homage which, he performed awkwardly, and with evident ill-will.  His master nodded condescendingly in response to his reluctant salute, and signed to him to take his place at a richly carved writing-table adorned with the climbing figures of winged cupids exquisitely wrought in ivory.  He obeyed, shuffling thither uneasily, and sniffing the rose-fragrant air as he went like an ill-conditioned cur scenting a foe,—­and seating himself in a high-backed chair, he arranged his garments fussily about him, rolled up his long embroidered sleeves to the elbow, and spread his writing implements all over the desk in front of him with much mock-solemn ostentation.  Then, rubbing his lean hands together, he gave a stealthy glance of covert derision round at Sah-luma and Theos,—­a glance which Theos saw and in his heart resented, but which Sah-luma, absorbed in his own reflections, apparently failed to notice.

“All is in readiness, my lord!” he announced in his disagreeable croaking tones,—­“Here are the clean and harmless slips of river-reed waiting to be soiled and spotted with my lord’s indelible thoughts,—­here also are the innocent quills of the white heron, as yet unstained by colored writing-fluid whether black, red, gold, silver, or purple!  Mark you, most illustrious bard, the touching helplessness and purity of these meek servants of a scribbler’s fancy! ...  Blank papyrus and empty quills!  Bethink you seriously whether it were not better to leave them thus unblemished, the simple products of unfaulty Nature, than use them to indite the wondrous things of my lord’s imagination, whereof, all wondrous though they seem, no man shall ever be the wiser!”