The courtyard was now lighted, but each individual was so engrossed by his own sorrows that no one noticed the old astrologer.  Tearing the cloak from his shivering limbs to make a pillow for the lad’s tossing head, he heard, while tending him with fatherly affection, fierce imprecations on the Hebrews who had brought this woe on Pharaoh and his people, mingling with the chants and shouts of the approaching crowd and, recurring again and again, the name of Prince Rameses, the heir to the throne, while the tone in which it was uttered, the formulas of lamentation associated with it, announced the tidings that the eyes of the monarch’s first-born son were closed in death.

The astrologer gazed at his grandson’s wan features with increasing anxiety, and even while the wailing for the prince rose louder and louder a slight touch of gratification stirred his soul at the thought of the impartial justice Death metes out alike to the sovereign on his throne and the beggar by the roadside.  He now realized what had brought the noisy multitude to the temple!

With as much swiftness as his aged limbs would permit, he hastened forward to meet the mourners; but ere he reached them he saw the gate-keeper and his wife come out of their house, carrying between them on a mat the dead body of a boy.  The husband held one end, his fragile little wife the other, and the gigantic warder was forced to stoop low to keep the rigid form in a horizontal position and not let it slip toward the woman.  Three children, preceded by a little girl carrying a lantern, closed the mournful procession.

Perhaps no one would have noticed the group, had not the gate-keeper’s little wife shrieked so wildly and piteously that no one could help hearing her lamentations.  The second prophet of Amon, and then his companions, turned toward them.  The procession halted, and as some of the priests approached the corpse the gate-keeper shouted loudly:  “Away, away from the plague!  It has stricken our first-born son.”

The wife meantime had snatched the lantern from her little girl’s hand and casting its light full on the dead boy’s rigid face, she screamed: 

“The god hath suffered it to happen.  Ay, he permitted the horror to enter beneath his own roof.  Not his will, but the curse of the stranger rules us and our lives.  Look, this was our first-born son, and the plague has also stricken two of the temple-servants.  One already lies dead in our room, and there lies Kamus, grandson of the astrologer Rameri.  We heard the old man call, and saw what was happening; but who can prop another’s house when his own is falling?  Take heed while there is time; for the gods have opened their own sanctuaries to the horror.  If the whole world crumbles into ruin, I shall neither marvel nor grieve.  My lord priests, I am only a poor lowly woman, but am I not right when I ask:  Do our gods sleep, or has some one paralyzed them, or what are they doing that they leave us and our children in the power of the base Hebrew brood?”