Nebenchari had been listening to his servant’s tale in silence and thought.  He had changed color from time to time and on hearing that the papers which had cost him so many nights of hard work had been burnt, his fists clenched and he shivered as if seized by biting frost.  Not one of his movements escaped the Athenian.  He understood human nature; he knew that a jest is often much harder to bear than a grave affront, and therefore seized this opportunity to repeat the inconsiderate joke which Amasis had, it is true, allowed himself to make in one of his merry moods.  Phanes had calculated rightly, and had the pleasure of seeing, that as he uttered the last words Nebenchari pressed his hand on a rose which lay on the table before him, and crushed it to pieces.  The Greek suppressed a smile of satisfaction, and did not even raise his eyes from the ground, but continued speaking:  “Well, now we must bring the travelling adventures of good old Hib to a close.  I invited him to share my carriage.  At first he refused to sit on the same cushion with such a godless foreigner, as I am, gave in, however, at last, had a good opportunity at the last station of showing the world how many clever processes of manipulation he had learnt from you and your father, in his treatment of Oropastes’ wounded brother; he reached Babylon at last safe and sound, and there, as we could not get sight of you, owing to the melancholy poisoning of your country-woman, I succeeded in obtaining him a lodging in the royal palace itself.  The rest you knew already.”

Nebenchari bowed assent and gave Hib a sign to leave the room, which the old man obeyed, grumbling and scolding in a low tone as he departed.  When the door had closed on him, Nebenchari, the man whose calling was to heal, drew nearer to the soldier Phanes, and said:  “I am afraid we cannot be allies after all, Greek.”

“Why not?”

“Because I fear, that your revenge will prove far too mild when compared with that which I feel bound to inflict.”

“On that head there is no need for solicitude,” answered the Athenian.  “May I call you my ally then?”

“Yes,” answered the other; “but only on one condition.”

“And that is—?”

“That you will procure me an opportunity of seeing our vengeance with my own eyes.”

“That is as much as to say you are willing to accompany Cambyses’ army to Egypt?”

“Certainly I am; and when I see my enemies pining in disgrace and misery I will cry unto them, ’Ah ha, ye cowards, the poor despised and exiled physician, Nebenchari, has brought this wretchedness upon you!’ Oh, my books, my books!  They made up to me for my lost wife and child.  Hundreds were to have learnt from them how to deliver the blind from the dark night in which he lives, and to preserve to the seeing the sweetest gift of the gods, the greatest beauty of the human countenance, the receptacle of light, the seeing eye.  Now that my books are burnt