Neither the room nor its company was large. Belshazzar occupied an ivory chair on a low dais. At his right hand two white-robed scribes were ready with clay tablet and stylus to take down all that passed. On other stools facing the dais were seated the coterie of magnates who made up the privy council—Avil-Marduk, Bilsandan, Mermaza, Sirusur the general, and a few colleagues. Behind the king stood the inevitable pair of eunuchs with their fly-flappers. As for Darius, he had been placed directly facing the king; and to the surprise of all he remained standing with folded arms, without any obeisance, during a silence that soon became awkward. Belshazzar had heavy rings beneath his eyes, as if he had drunk overdeeply the night before; and when he turned to motion to Bilsandan, his hand was seen to tremble. Seemingly, he was deeply moved. Then, while the vizier was feeling around for words, Darius broke forth rudely:— “Well, your Majesty, this bullock here”—with a nod toward Khatin—“says you desire my head. By Mithra! I wonder that, after imprisoning Cyrus’s envoy, you hesitate to kill him also.” Belshazzar, by an effort, ignored the taunt, and with uncommon smoothness answered: “Noble prince, few have deplored more than I your nominal imprisonment. I have summoned you here to declare that you are shortly to be set free.” Darius looked gravely into the king’s eyes. “I rejoice to hear it, my lord,” said he, sternly; “yet more would I rejoice to know how your Majesty will account to Cyrus for this outrage upon the person of his ambassador. A strange story, surely, to send to Susa!” “If the noble prince,” commenced Avil in turn, speaking gently, as if treading on slippery ground, “will deign to listen to his slave—” “Ugh!” grunted the Persian, turning his back on the pontiff, “what foul _dæva_ told _you_ how I was to serve the king of the Aryans?” “Do you speak for us all,” Belshazzar nervously commanded Bilsandan. “May it please the preëminently noble son of Hystaspes,” began the vizier, also timidly, “there has just come to Babylon a courier saying a second embassy from Cyrus is close to Babylon, and has sent so unfriendly a letter on before it, that we are fain to ask my lord to explain it to us.” “Ha!” They saw the prince’s lips curl in half-suppressed triumph; but he demanded, “And what proof, wretched oath-breakers, have you to lay before me, a prisoner, that you are telling me one morsel of the truth?” Bilsandan flushed, but tried to keep his temper. “Believe me, my prince, we have nothing to gain by concealing anything. We had expected no new embassy from Persia so quickly. Now, all unwarned, comes Igas with tidings that Gobryas, the general of Cyrus, is within a hundred furlongs of the city. And doubtless if he is not persuaded to alter his mood, as shown in his letter, we fear Cyrus, your master—”