om of the
paraschites' hut, and like a lightning flash the thought, "How will the
princess and her train find room here?" flew through his mind.

His fancy was lively, and vividly brought before him how the daughter of
the Pharaoh with a crown on her proud head would bustle into the silent
chamber, how the chattering courtiers would follow her, and how the
women by the walls, the physicians by the side of the sick girl, the
sleek white cat from the chest where she sat, would rise and throng
round her. There must be frightful confusion. Then he imagined how the
smart lords and ladies would keep themselves far from the unclean, hold
their slender hands over their mouths and noses, and suggest to the old
folks how they ought to behave to the princess who condescended to bless
them with her presence. The old woman must lay down the head that rested
in her bosom, the paraschites must drop the feet he so anxiously rubbed,
on the floor, to rise and kiss the dust before Bent-Anat. Whereupon--the
"mind's eye" of the young priest seemed to see it all--the courtiers
fled before him, pushing each other, and all crowded together into a
corner, and at last the princess threw a few silver or gold rings into
the laps of the father and mother, and perhaps to the girl too, and he
seemed to hear the courtiers all cry out: "Hail to the gracious daughter
of the Sun!"--to hear the joyful exclamations of the crowd of women--to
see the gorgeous apparition leave the hut of the despised people,
and then to see, instead of the lovely sick child who still breathed
audibly, a silent corpse on the crumpled mat, and in the place of the
two tender nurses at her head and feet, two heart-broken, loud-lamenting
wretches.

Pentaur's hot spirit was full of wrath. As soon as the noisy cortege
appeared actually in sight he would place himself in the doorway, forbid
the princess to enter, and receive her with strong words.

She could hardly come hither out of human kindness.

"She wants variety," said he to himself, "something new at Court; for
there is little going on there now the king tarries with the troops in
a distant country; it tickles the vanity of the great to find themselves
once in a while in contact with the small, and it is well to have
your goodness of heart spoken of by the people. If a little misfortune
opportunely happens, it is not worth the trouble to inquire whether
the form of our benevolence does more good or mischief to such wretche