oyal as my own.
Even more royal, an old friend said, and warned me against your ambition
and your exaltation. Then my heart changed, for I were not Seti's son if
I allow myself to injure a friend through idle apprehensions; and he who
stands so high that men fear that he may try to rise above Rameses, seems
to me to be worthy of Bent-Anat. Woo her, and, should she consent freely,
the marriage may be celebrated on the day when I return home. You are
young enough to make a wife happy, and your mature wisdom will guard my
child from misfortune. Bent-Anat shall know that her father, and king,
encourages your suit; but pray too to the Hathors, that they may
influence Bent-Anat's heart in your favor, for to her decision we must
both submit."

The Regent had changed color several times while reading this letter. Now
he laid it on the table with a shrug of his shoulders, stood up, clasped
his hand behind him, and, with his eyes cast meditatively on the floor,
leaned against one of the pillars which supported the beams of the roof.

The longer he thought, the less amiable his expression became. "A pill
sweetened with honey,

[Two recipes for pills are found in the papyri, one with honey for
women, and one without for men.]

such as they give to women," he muttered to himself. Then he went back to
the table, read the king's letter through once more, and said: "One may
learn from it how to deny by granting, and at the same time not to forget
to give it a brilliant show of magnanimity. Rameses knows his daughter.
She is a girl like any other, and will take good care not to choose a man
twice as old as herself, and who might be her father. Rameses will
'submit'--I am to I submit!' And to what? to the judgment and the choice
of a wilful child!"

With these words he threw the letter so vehemently on to the table, that
it slipped off on to the floor.

The mute slave picked it up, and laid it carefully on the table again,
while his master threw a ball into a silver bason.

Several attendants rushed into the room, and Ani ordered them to bring to
him the captive dwarf of the Lady Katuti. His soul rose in indignation
against the king, who in his remote camp-tent could fancy he had made him
happy by a proof of his highest favor. When we are plotting against a man
we are inclined to regard him as an enemy, and if he offers us a rose we
believe it to be for the sake, not of the perfume, but of the thorns.

The dwarf Nemu was