“Oh, yes, I know that as well as you do, but . . .”

“But you women are an unthankful race, and don’t deserve our kindness.”

“Please not to forget, that you are speaking to a girl of good family.”

“I know that very well, my little one.  I know that your father was a Magian and your mother a Magian’s daughter; that they both died early and you were placed under the care of the Destur Ixabates, the father of Oropastes, and grew up with his children.  I know too that when you had received the ear-rings, Oropastes’ brother Gaumata, (you need not blush, Gaumata is a pretty name) fell in love with your rosy face, and wanted to marry you, though he was only nineteen.  Gaumata and Mandane, how well the two names sound together!  Mandane and Gaumata!  If I were a poet I should call my hero Gaumata and his lady-love Mandane.”

“I insist on your ceasing to jest in this way,” cried Mandane, blushing deeply and stamping her foot.

“What, are you angry because I say the names sound well together?  You ought rather to be angry with the proud Oropastes, who sent his younger brother to Rhagar and you to the court, that you might forget one another.”

“That is a slander on my benefactor.”

“Let my tongue wither away, if I am not speaking the truth and nothing but the truth!  Oropastes separated you and his brother because he had higher intentions for the handsome Gaumata, than a marriage with the orphan daughter of an inferior Magian.  He would have been satisfied with Amytis or Menische for a sister-in-law, but a poor girl like you, who owed everything to his bounty, would only have stood in the way of his ambitious plans.  Between ourselves, he would like to be appointed regent of Persia while the king is away at the Massagetan war, and would therefore give a great deal to connect himself by marriage in some way or other with the Archemenidae.  At his age a new wife is not to be thought of; but his brother is young and handsome, indeed people go so far as to say, that he is like the Prince Bartja.”

“That is true,” exclaimed the girl.  “Only think, when we went out to meet my mistress, and I saw Bartja for the first time from the window of the station-house, I thought he was Gaumata.  They are so like one another that they might be twins, and they are the handsomest men in the kingdom.”

“How you are blushing, my pretty rose-bud!  But the likeness between them is not quite so great as all that.  When I spoke to the high-priest’s brother this morning . . .”

“Gaumata is here?” interrupted the girl passionately.  “Have you really seen him or are you trying to draw me out and make fun of me?”

“By Mithras! my sweet one, I kissed his forehead this very morning, and he made me tell him a great deal about his darling.  Indeed his blue eyes, his golden curls and his lovely complexion, like the bloom on a peach, were so irresistible that I felt inclined to try and work impossibilities for him.  Spare your blushes, my little pomegranate-blossom, till I have told you all; and then perhaps in future you will not be so hard upon poor Boges; you will see that he has a good heart, full of kindness for his beautiful, saucy little countrywoman.”