“The meal was ready,” sighed the cook.  “I shall have to go to work again if he does not remain all night.”

“How should he?” asked the steward.  “He is with the princess Bent-Anat.”

“And my mistress,” added the dwarf.

“What will they say to each other,” laughed gardener; “your chief litter-bearer declared that yesterday on the way to the City of the Dead they did not speak a word to each other.”

“Can you blame the lord if he is angry with the lady who was betrothed to him, and then was wed to another?  When I think of the moment when he learnt Nefert’s breach of faith I turn hot and cold.”

“Care the less for that,” sneered the dwarf, “since you must be hot in summer and cold in winter.”

“It is not evening all day,” cried the head groom.  “Paaker never forgets an injury, and we shall live to see him pay Mena—­high as he is—­for the affront he has offered him.

“My lady Katuti,” interrupted Nemu, “stores up the arrears of her son-in-law.”

Besides, she has long wished to renew the old friendship with your house, and the Regent too preaches peace.  Give me a piece of bread, steward.  I am hungry!”

“The sacks, into which Mena’s arrears flow seem to be empty,” laughed the cook.

“Empty! empty! much like your wit!” answered the dwarf.  “Give me a bit of roast meat, steward; and you slaves bring me a drink of beer.”

“You just now said your maw was no bigger than a fly’s head,” cried the cook, “and now you devour meat like the crocodiles in the sacred tank of Seeland.  You must come from a world of upside-down, where the men are as small as flies, and the flies as big as the giants of the past.”

“Yet, I might be much bigger,” mumbled the dwarf while he munched on unconcernedly, “perhaps as big as your spite which grudges me the third bit of meat, which the steward—­may Zefa bless him with great possessions —­is cutting out of the back of the antelope.”

“There, take it, you glutton, but let out your girdle,” said the steward laughing, “I had cut the slice for myself, and admire your sharp nose.”

“All noses,” said the dwarf, “they teach the knowing better than any haruspex what is inside a man.”

“How is that?” cried the gardener.

“Only try to display your wisdom,” laughed the steward; for, if you want to talk, you must at last leave off eating.”

“The two may be combined,” said the dwarf.  “Listen then!  A hooked nose, which I compare to a vulture’s beak, is never found together with a submissive spirit.  Think of the Pharaoh and all his haughty race.  The Regent, on the contrary, has a straight, well-shaped, medium-sized nose, like the statue of Amon in the temple, and he is an upright soul, and as good as the Gods.  He is neither overbearing nor submissive beyond just what is right; he holds neither with the great nor yet with the mean, but with men of our stamp.  There’s the king for us!”