ul stories liars; they are called poets."

"Just as it is with ourselves," said Kassandane. "The poets, who sing the
praises of my husband, have altered and adorned his early life in a
marvellous manner; yet no one calls them liars. But tell me, my daughter,
is it true that these Greeks are more beautiful than other men, and
understand art better even than the Egyptians?"

"On that subject I should not venture to pronounce a judgment. There is
such a great difference between the Greek and Egyptian works of art. When
I went into our own gigantic temples to pray, I always felt as if I must
prostrate myself in the dust before the greatness of the gods, and
entreat them not to crush so insignificant a worm; but in the temple of
Hera at Samos, I could only raise my hands to heaven in joyful
thanksgiving, that the gods had made the earth so beautiful. In Egypt I
always believed as I had been taught: 'Life is asleep; we shall not awake
to our true existence in the kingdom of Osiris till the hour of death;'
but in Greece I thought: 'I am born to live and to enjoy this cheerful,
bright and blooming world.'"

"Ah! tell us something more about Greece," cried Atossa; "but first
Nebenchari must put a fresh bandage on my mother's eyes."

The oculist, a tall, grave man in the white robes of an Egyptian priest,
came forward to perform the necessary operation, and after being kindly
greeted by Nitetis, withdrew once more silently into the background. At
the same time a eunuch entered to enquire whether Croesus might be
allowed to pay his respectful homage to the king's mother.

The aged king soon appeared, and was welcomed as the old and tried friend
of the Persian royal family. Atossa, with her usual impetuosity, fell on
the neck of the friend she had so sorely missed during his absence; the
queen gave him her hand, and Nitetis met him like a loving daughter.

"I thank the gods, that I am permitted to see you again," said Croesus.
"The young can look at life as a possession, as a thing understood and
sure, but at my age every year must be accepted as an undeserved gift
from the gods, for which a man must be thankful."

"I could envy you for this happy view of life," sighed Kassandane. "My
years are fewer than yours, and yet every new day seems to me a
punishment sent by the Immortals."

"Can I be listening to the wife of the great Cyrus?" asked Croesus. "How
long is it since courage and confidence left that brave heart? I tell