you were Mena, and you took the fairest woman living by the hand and led her into it, and these eyes saw it—­aye, over and over again—­I would laugh at it—­as I laugh at it now; and I should say, ‘Who knows what he may have to give her, or to say to her,’ and not for one instant would I doubt his truth; for your son is false and Mena is true.  Osiris broke faith with Isis—­but Mena may be favored by a hundred women—­he will take none to his tent but me!”

“Keep your belief,” said Katuti bitterly, “but leave me mine.”

“Yours?” said Nefert, and her flushed cheeks turned pale again.  “What do you believe?  You listen to the worst and basest things that can be said of a man who has overloaded you with benefits!  A wretch, bah! an ignoble wretch?  Is that what you call a man who lets you dispose of his estate as you please!”

“Nefert,” cried Katuti angrily, “I will—­”

“Do what you will,” interrupted her indignant daughter, “but do not vilify the generous man who has never hindered you from throwing away his property on your son’s debts and your own ambition.  Since the day before yesterday I have learned that we are not rich; and I have reflected, and I have asked myself what has become of our corn and our cattle, of our sheep and the rents from the farmers.  The wretch’s estate was not so contemptible; but I tell you plainly I should be unworthy to be the wife of the noble Mena if I allowed any one to vilify his name under his own roof.  Hold to your belief, by all means, but one of us must quit this house—­you or I.”

At these words Nefert broke into passionate sobs, threw herself on her knees by her couch, hid her face in the cushions, and wept convulsively and without intermission.

Katuti stood behind her, startled, trembling, and not knowing what to say.  Was this her gentle, dreamy daughter?  Had ever a daughter dared to speak thus to her mother?  But was she right or was Nefert?  This question was the pressing one; she knelt down by the side of the young wife, put her arm round her, drew her head against her bosom, and whispered pitifully: 

“You cruel, hard-hearted child; forgive your poor, miserable mother, and do not make the measure of her wretchedness overflow.”

Then Nefert rose, kissed her mother’s hand, and went silently into her own room.

Katuti remained alone; she felt as if a dead hand held her heart in its icy grasp, and she muttered to herself: 

“Ani is right—­nothing turns to good excepting that from which we expect the worst.”

She held her hand to her head, as if she had heard something too strange to be believed.  Her heart went after her daughter, but instead of sympathizing with her she collected all her courage, and deliberately recalled all the reproaches that Nefert had heaped upon her.  She did not spare herself a single word, and finally she murmured to herself:  “She can spoil every thing.  For Mena’s sake she