When King Hiram left the council hall, pages swung aside the heavy curtains which screened the doorways; lackeys bore before him, so far as the exit, the ancient sceptre of Tyre, laid upon a gemmed cushion; palanquin-bearers took their places around the royal vehicle; while the outrunners, with trim legs and short fluted white skirts, balanced in their hands the long rods of their office, and ran to clear the way. The chief attendant was distinguished from the others by his crimson skirt, which hung from a silver belt tightening his loins, and by the long ribbons of purple that, encircling his brow, hung as streamers almost to the ground. With that superb grace which only accomplished athletes acquire, he bowed to the earth as the king descended the marble steps leading from the hall. "Whither, O king?" "The hour?" inquired Hiram. "It begins the seventh, by the grace of Baal!" replied the attendant. "To the Sidonian Harbor, then." The runners flew. The crowds in the narrow streets backed close against the houses on either side. "Long live King Hiram!" murmured from hundreds of lips, but the king noted that it was shouted by none. If there were loyalty, it was without enthusiasm. The priests scowled, or, pretending to be preoccupied with pious meditation, allowed the royal palanquin to pass without salute. Reaching the quay, the king stepped quickly from his carriage, and returning with equal courtesy the low salâm of an elderly man, embraced him cordially. Even if this person's garb had not revealed his nationality, his straight nose on a line with his forehead would have proclaimed him a Greek. His face was weather-beaten and bronzed by exposure to many climes. His firm lips and strong chin would have suggested to an observer that he was a man of resoluteness, perhaps one engaged in daring adventures; were it not that a certain quiet depth in his eyes, a passive introspective sort of look, such as they acquire who are accustomed to think more than they see, betrayed the philosopher. "I feared, noble Herodotus, that my detention at the council had prevented my wishing you farewell," said the king. "My thanks, your majesty! But, without this final and unlooked-for courtesy, my voyage across the seas would have been gladdened by the memory of your many kindnesses. I shall bear to my nation the knowledge I have acquired of the past greatness of your people, and the prediction that, under the liberal rule of King Hiram, a new era of progress is to follow." "The new era will come, sire, when the Phoenicians learn from the Greeks what I have learned from you. The benefactors of nations are not their kings, but their wise men." "Blessed is the nation whose wisest man is their king," replied Herodotus, with almost reverential courtesy.