Tachot looked at him earnestly before taking the golden sistrum from his hands, and then said, in a low voice, which only he could understand:  “Are you Bartja?  Tell me, in your mother’s name—­are you Bartja?”

“Yes, I am,” was his answer, in a voice as low as her own, “your friend, Bartja.”

He could not say more, for the priests pushed him back among the crowd.  When he was in his old place, he noticed that Tachot, whose bearers had begun to move on again, was looking round at him.  The color had come back into her cheeks, and her bright eyes were trying to meet his.  He did not avoid them; she threw him a lotus-bud-he stooped to pick it up, and then broke his way through the crowd, for this hasty act had roused their attention.

A quarter of an hour later, he was seated in the boat which was to take him to Sappho and to his wedding.  He was quite at ease now about Zopyrus.  In Bartja’s eyes his friend was already as good as saved, and in spite of the dangers which threatened himself, he felt strangely calm and happy, he could hardly say why.

Meanwhile the sick princess had been carried home, had had her oppressive ornaments taken off, and her couch carried on to one of the palace-balconies where she liked best to pass the hot summer days, sheltered by broad-leaved plants, and a kind of awning.

From this veranda, she could look down into the great fore-court of the palace, which was planted with trees.  To-day it was full of priests, courtiers, generals and governors of provinces.  Anxiety and suspense were expressed in every face:  Amasis’ last hour was drawing very near.

Tachot could not be seen from below; but listening with feverish eagerness, she could hear much that was said.  Now that they had to dread the loss of their king, every one, even the priests, were full of his praises.  The wisdom and circumspection of his plans and modes of government, his unwearied industry, the moderation he had always shown, the keenness of his wit, were, each and all, subjects of admiration.  “How Egypt has prospered under Amasis’ government!” said a Nomarch.  “And what glory he gained for our arms, by the conquest of Cyprus and the war with the Libyans!” cried one of the generals.  “How magnificently he embellished our temples, and what great honors he paid to the goddess of Sais!” exclaimed one of the singers of Neith.  “And then how gracious and condescending he was!” murmured a courtier.  “How cleverly he managed to keep peace with the great powers!” said the secretary of state, and the treasurer, wiping away a tear, cried:  “How thoroughly he understood the management of the revenue!  Since the reign of Rameses III. the treasury has not been so well filled as now.”  “Psamtik comes into a fine inheritance,” lisped the courtier, and the soldier exclaimed, “Yes, but it’s to be feared that he’ll not spend it in a glorious war; he’s too much under the influence of the