of smoke, in which the flags and pennons waved gently backwards and forwards.  The palm-trees and sycamores were silvered by the moonlight and threw strange fantastic reflections on the red waters of the Nile-red from the fiery glow of the houses on their shores.  But strong and glowing as was the light of the illumination, its rays had not power to reach the middle of the giant river, where the boat was making its course, and the pleasure-party felt as if they were sailing in dark night between two brilliant days.  Now and then a brightly-lighted boat would come swiftly across the river and seem, as it neared the shore, to be cutting its way through a glowing stream of molten iron.

Lotus-blossoms, white as snow, lay on the surface of the river, rising and falling with the waves, and looking like eyes in the water.  Not a sound could be heard from either shore.  The echoes were carried away by the north-wind, and the measured stroke of the oars and monotonous song of the rowers were the only sounds that broke the stillness of this strange night—­a night robbed of its darkness.

For a long time the friends gazed without speaking at the wonderful sight, which seemed to glide past them.  Zopyrus was the first to break the silence by saying, as he drew a long breath:  “I really envy you, Bartja.  If things were as they should be, every one of us would have his dearest wife at his side on such a night as this.”

“And who forbade you to bring one of your wives?” answered the happy husband.

“The other five,” said the youth with a sigh.  “If I had allowed Oroetes’ little daughter Parysatis, my youngest favorite, to come out alone with me to-night, this wonderful sight would have been my last; tomorrow there would have been one pair of eyes less in the world.”

Bartja took Sappho’s hand and held it fast, saying, “I fancy one wife will content me as long as I live.”  The young mother pressed his hand warmly again, and said, turning to Zopyrus:  “I don’t quite trust you, my friend.  It seems to me that it is not the anger of your wives you fear, so much as the commission of an offence against the customs of your country.  I have been told that my poor Bartja gets terribly scolded in the women’s apartments for not setting eunuchs to watch over me, and for letting me share his pleasures.”

“He does spoil you terribly,” answered Zopyrus, “and our wives are beginning to quote him as an example of kindness and indulgence, whenever we try to hold the reins a little tight.  Indeed there will soon be a regular women’s mutiny at the king’s gate, and the Achaemenidae who escaped the swords and arrows of the Egyptians, will fall victims to sharp tongues and floods of salt tears.”

“Oh! you most impolite Persian!” said Syloson laughing.  “We must make you more respectful to these images of Aphrodite.”

“You Greeks! that’s a good idea,” answered the youth.  “By Mithras, our wives are quite as well off as yours.  It’s only the Egyptian women, that are so wonderfully free.”