“It is as I thought!  He’s altered too, like everybody else!  Osiris is dead and Seth rules the world again.”

“Farewell!  When the seven stars rise, our old Ethiopian slave, Nebununf, will wait for you here.”

“Nebununf, that old rogue?  I never want to see him again.”

“Yes, the very same.”

“Him—­well it’s a good thing, when people stay as they were.  To be sure I know some people who can’t say so much of themselves, and who instead of minding their own business, pretend to heal inward diseases, and when a faithful old servant . . .”

“Hold your tongue, and wait patiently till evening.”  These last words were spoken seriously, and produced the desired impression.  The old man made another obeisance, and before his master left him, said:  “I came here under the protection of Phanes, the former commander of the Greek mercenaries.  He wishes very much to speak with you.”

“That is his concern.  He can come to me.”

“You never leave that sick girl, whose eyes are as sound as . . .”

“Hib!”

“For all I care she may have a cataract in both.  May Phanes come to you this evening?”

“I wished to be alone with you.”

“So did I; but the Greek seems to be in a great hurry, and he knows nearly everything that I have to tell you.”

“Have you been gossiping then?”

“No—­not exactly—­but . . .”

“I always thought you were a man to be trusted.”

“So I was.  But this Greek knows already a great deal of what I know, and the rest . . .”

“Well?”

“The rest he got out of me, I hardly know how myself.  If I did not wear this amulet against an evil eye, I should have been obliged . . .”

“Yes, yes, I know the Athenian—­I can forgive you.  I should like him to come with you this evening.  But I see the sun is already high in the heavens.  I have no time to lose.  Tell me in a few words what has happened.”

“I thought this evening . . .”

“No, I must have at least a general idea of what has happened before I see the Athenian.  Be brief.”

“You have been robbed!”

“Is that all?”

“Is not that enough?”

“Answer me.  Is that all?”

“Yes!”

“Then farewell.”

“But Nebenchari!”

The physician did not even hear this exclamation; the gates of the harem had already closed behind him.

When the Pleiades had risen, Nebenchari was to be found seated alone in one of the magnificent rooms assigned to his use on the eastern side of the palace, near to Kassandane’s apartments.  The friendly manner in which he had welcomed his old servant had given place to the serious expression which his face usually wore, and which had led the cheerful Persians to call him a morose and gloomy man.

Nebenchari was an Egyptian priest through and through; a member of that caste which never indulged in a jest, and never for a moment forgot to be dignified and solemn before the public; but when among their relations and their colleagues completely threw off this self-imposed restraint, and gave way at times even to exuberant mirth.