“Ah! Dear old playfellow, rise up! Have I not been your fosterling since first I could walk? When at Susa or Ecbatana have I passed one day without you close by to scold and grumble over me? And now that all other friends are gone, you alone are left; and I have learned to love none too many new faces here, to wish to keep you quite afar.” The honest fellow thrust his arm within hers,—a familiarity born of lifelong comradeship. “Ah! Little mistress, you do not right in crying down this wondrous city. Surely, there is naught else like it under heaven!” “Masistes,” said Atossa, looking upon him half playfully, half in anger, “I must have you whipped. Since coming hither you have learned to lie.” “I lie?” he lifted his hands in dismay. “Ahura, Lord of Truth, forefend!” “Nevertheless,” she answered, laughing now, “you speak falsely, praising Babylon. From the bottom of your soul you hate it. How do I learn this? Because I know when you are indifferent to a thing, you are silent; you like it, when you begin to mutter against it under breath; but if you love it exceeding well,—there is nothing you may say of it too ill! But I am open, and I say to you,—and to any who wills to hear,—this city is the abode of _dævas_: _dævas_ are all its lords, its priests, its people; and Angra-Mainyu, arch-fiend, is little fiercer than its king.” “Alas! lady, such speeches make no winds pipe sweeter!” “Not sweeter? I only know that except I empty my heart to some one, it will burst; and I think no Egyptian doctor could heal that with all his cordials!” “Come, little mistress, in five years Babylon will have become dearer to you than Susa. What is strange, we hate.” “So has said Darius; but I would answer this: When Belshazzar can love a maid above a lion, I will try to think otherwise.” “But at the Gardens last night was he not all courtesy and compliment? Doubtless his manners are not those of your august father—” “Silence!” she commanded, truly wrathful now, “speak not of Belshazzar and of Cyrus in one breath! Where is the king worthy to sit beside my father? I say nothing of his power,—but of his tenderness, his mercy. And Belshazzar,”—some force seemed tugging the name across her teeth,—“no doubt he can speak glozing words; but his heart is dark, and under the softest of his speeches you can hear the muzzled roarings of the lion.” The good eunuch began to whimper in sympathy, a great tear on each cheek. “Alas! lady, all is as you say. Yet you will not curse Cyrus who sent you?” Atossa’s eyes were dry; she held her head up proudly.