n the grey of the morning he left the king's apartment and went to
Phaedime. The proud Persian had taken no rest. She was waiting for him
with feverish anxiety, as a rumor of all that had happened had already
reached the harem and penetrated to her apartments. She was lying on a
purple couch in her dressing-room; a thin silken chemise and yellow
slippers thickly sown with turquoises and pearls composed her entire
dress. Twenty attendants were standing round her, but the moment she
heard Boges she sent her slaves away, sprang up to meet him, and
overwhelmed him with a stream of incoherent questions, all referring to
her enemy Nitetis.

"Gently, gently, my little bird," said Boges, laying his hand on her
shoulder. "If you can't make up your mind to be as quiet as a little
mouse while I tell my story, and not to ask one question, you won't hear
a syllable of it to-day. Yes, indeed, my golden queen, I've so much to
tell that I shall not have finished till to-morrow, if you are to
interrupt me as often as you like. Ah, my little lamb, and I've still so
much to do to-day. First I must be present at an Egyptian donkey-ride;
secondly, I must witness an Egyptian execution . . . but I see I am
anticipating my story; I must begin at the beginning. I'll allow you to
cry, laugh and scream for joy as much as you will, but you're forbidden
to ask a single question until I have finished. I think really I have
deserved these caresses. There, now I am quite at my ease, and can begin.
Once upon a time there was a great king in Persia, who had many wives,
but he loved Phaedime better than the rest, and set her above all the
others. One day the thought struck him that he would ask for the hand of
the King of Egypt's daughter in marriage, and he sent a great embassy to
Sais, with his own brother to do the wooing for him--"

"What nonsense!" cried Phaedime impatiently; "I want to know what has
happened now."

"Patience, patience, my impetuous March wind. If you interrupt me again,
I shall go away and tell my story to the trees. You really need not
grudge me the pleasure of living my successes over again. While I tell
this story, I feel as happy as a sculptor when he puts down his hammer
and gazes at his finished work."

"No, no!" said Phaedime, interrupting him again. "I cannot listen now to
what I know quite well already. I am dying of impatience, and every fresh
report that the eunuchs and slave-girls bring makes it worse. I am in a
per