the happiness of her youngest and favorite son.  When she sees that he will not give up Sappho,—­that his smiling face, in which she adores the image of her great husband Cyrus, becomes clouded, I verily believe she would be ready to sanction his taking even a Scythian woman to wife, if it could restore him to cheerfulness.  Neither will Cambyses himself refuse his consent if his mother press the point at a right moment.”

“In that case every difficulty is set aside,” cried Rhodopis joyfully.

“It is not the marriage itself, but the time that must follow, which causes me uneasiness,” answered Croesus.

“Do you think then that Bartja . . . ?”

“From him I fear nothing.  He has a pure heart, and has been so long proof against love, that now he has once yielded, he will love long and ardently.”

“What then do you fear?”

“You must remember that, though the charming wife of their favorite will be warmly received by all his friends of his own sex, there are thousands of idle women in the harems of the Persian nobles, who will endeavor, by every artifice and intrigue in their power, to injure the newly-risen star; and whose greatest joy it will be to ruin such an inexperienced child and make her unhappy.”

“You have a very bad opinion of the Persian women.”

“They are but women, and will naturally envy her, who has gained the husband they all desired either for themselves or for their daughters.  In their monotonous life, devoid of occupation, envy easily becomes hatred, and the gratification of these evil passions is the only compensation which the poor creatures can obtain for the total absence of love and loss of freedom.  I repeat, the more beautiful Sappho is, the more malicious they will feel towards her, and, even if Bartja should love her so fervently as not to take a second wife for two or three years, she will still have such heavy hours to encounter, that I really do not know whether I dare congratulate you on her apparently brilliant future.”

“That is quite my own feeling.  A simple Greek would be more welcome to me than this son of a mighty monarch.”

In this moment Knakias brought Bartja into the room.  He went to Rhodopis at once, besought her not to refuse him the hand of her granddaughter, spoke of his ardent love, and assured her that his happiness would be doubled, if she would consent to accompany them to Persia.  Then turning to Croesus, he seized his hand and entreated forgiveness for having so long concealed his great happiness from one who had been like a father to him, at the same time begging him to second his suit with Rhodopis.

The old man listened to the youth’s passionate language with a smile, and said:  “Ah, Bartja, how often have I warned thee against love!  It is a scorching fire.”

“But its flame is bright and beautiful.”

“It causes pain.”

“But such pain is sweet.”