“Nitetis!” cried Croesus admonishingly.  But the warning came too late; the cup which her royal lover had given her slipped from her hands and fell ringing on the floor.  All eyes were fixed on the king’s features in anxious suspense.  He had sprung from his seat pale as death; his lips trembled and his fist was clenched.  Nitetis looked up at her lover imploringly, but he was afraid of meeting those wonderful, fascinating eyes, and turned his head away, saying in a hoarse voice:  “Take the women back to their apartments, Boges.  I have seen enough of them—­let us begin our drinking-bout—­good-night, my mother; take care how you nourish vipers with your heart’s blood.  Sleep well, Egyptian, and pray to the gods to give you a more equal power of dissembling your feelings.  To-morrow, my friends, we will go out hunting.  Here, cup-bearer, give me some wine! fill the large goblet, but taste it well—­yes, well—­for to-day I am afraid of poison; to-day for the first time.  Do you hear, Egyptian?  I am afraid of poison! and every child knows—­ah-ha—­that all the poison, as well as the medicine comes from Egypt.”

Nitetis left the hall,—­she hardly knew how,—­more staggering than walking.  Boges accompanied her, telling the bearers to make haste.

When they reached the hanging-gardens he gave her up to the care of the eunuch in attendance, and took his leave, not respectfully as usual, but chuckling, rubbing his hands, and speaking in an intimate and confidential tone:  “Dream about the handsome Bartja and his Egyptian lady-love, my white Nile-kitten!  Haven’t you any message for the beautiful boy, whose love-story frightened you so terribly?  Think a little.  Poor Boges will very gladly play the go-between; the poor despised Boges wishes you so well—­the humble Boges will be so sorry when he sees the proud palm-tree from Sais cut down.  Boges is a prophet; he foretells you a speedy return home to Egypt, or a quiet bed in the black earth in Babylon, and the kind Boges wishes you a peaceful sleep.  Farewell, my broken flower, my gay, bright viper, wounded by its own sting, my pretty fir-cone, fallen from the tall pine-tree!”

“How dare you speak in this impudent manner?” said the indignant princess.

“Thank you,” answered the wretch, smiling.

“I shall complain of your conduct,” threatened Nitetis.

“You are very amiable,” answered Boges.  “Go out of my sight,” she cried.

“I will obey your kind and gentle hints;” he answered softly, as if whispering words of love into her ear.  She started back in disgust and fear at these scornful words; she saw how full of terror they were for her, turned her back on him and went quickly into the house, but his voice rang after her:  “Don’t forget my lovely queen, think of me now and then; for everything that happens in the next few days will be a keepsake from the poor despised Boges.”