When Katuti first sounded her whistle he slunk to his post; he was challenged by no watchman, for the few guards who had been placed in the immediate vicinity of the pavilion, had all gone to sleep under the influence of the Regent’s wine.  Paaker climbed up to about the height of two men from the ground by the help of the ornamental carving on the outside wall of the palace; there a rope ladder was attached, he clambered up this, and soon stood on the parapet, above which were the windows of the king’s rooms, and below which the fire was to be laid.

Rameses’ room was brightly illuminated.  Paaker could see into it without being seen, and could bear every word that was spoken within.  The king was sitting in an arm-chair, and looked thoughtfully at the ground; before him stood the Regent, and Mena stood by his couch, holding in his hand the king’s sleeping-robe.

Presently Rameses raised his head, and said, as he offered his hand with frank affection to Ani: 

“Let me bring this glorious day to a worthy end, cousin.  I have found you my true and faithful friend, and I had been in danger of believing those over-anxious counsellors who spoke evil of you.  I am never prone to distrust, but a number of things occurred together that clouded my judgment, and I did you injustice.  I am sorry, sincerely sorry; nor am I ashamed to apologize to you for having for an instant doubted your good intentions.  You are my good friend—­and I will prove to you that I am yours.  There is my hand-take it; and all Egypt shall know that Rameses trusts no man more implicitly than his Regent Ani.  I will ask you to undertake to be my guard of honor to-night—­we will share this room.  I sleep here; when I lie down on my couch take your place on the divan yonder.”  Ani had taken Rameses’ offered hand, but now he turned pale as he looked down.  Paaker could see straight into his face, and it was not without difficulty that he suppressed a scornful laugh.

Rameses did not observe the Regent’s dismay, for he had signed to Mena to come closer to him.

“Before I sleep,” said the king, “I will bring matters to an end with you too.  You have put your wife’s constancy to a severe test, and she has trusted you with a childlike simplicity that is often wiser than the arguments of sages, because she loved you honestly, and is herself incapable of guile.  I promised you that I would grant you a wish if your faith in her was justified.  Now tell me what is your will?”

Mena fell on his knees, and covered the king’s robe with kisses.

“Pardon!” he exclaimed.  “Nothing but pardon.  My crime was a heavy one, I know; but I was driven to it by scorn and fury—­it was as if I saw the dishonoring hand of Paaker stretched out to seize my innocent wife, who, as I now know, loathes him as a toad—­”

“What was that?” exclaimed the king.  “I thought I heard a groan outside.”

He went up to the window and looked out, but he did not see the pioneer, who watched every motion of the king, and who, as soon as he perceived that his involuntary sigh of anguish had been heard, stretched himself close under the balustrade.  Mena had not risen from his knees when the king once more turned to him.