But she had had no correct comprehension of the manners and customs of the Huns, and had therefore imagined that her position as wife and Queen would be quite otherwise than it proved to be. Only this morning she had learnt that she could not appear at all at the marriage feast, nor share the throne, but would simply remain shut up with the other women in the women’s house. Cercas, the favourite, had explained all this with malicious joy to her rival, and the haughty Ildico was on the point of forming a resolution. She had no friends in the palace, and could not approach the foreign princes. Cercas was sewing, and accompanied her work with a melancholy song from her home in the far East. Ildico seemed to have collected her thoughts: “Can you lend me a needle?” she said, “I want to sew.” Cercas gave her a needle, but it was too small; she asked for a larger one, and chose the largest of all. She hid it in her bosom, and did not sew. At that moment there appeared in the doorway a creature so abominably ugly and of such a malicious aspect, that Ildico thought he was a demon. He was as jet-black as a negro from tropical Africa, and his head seemed to rest on his stomach, for he had no chest. He was a dwarf and humpback; his name was Hamilcar, and he was Attila’s court-fool. In those days the court-fool was generally not a wit, but a naive blockhead, who believed all that was said, and was therefore a butt for jests. He only placed a letter in Cercas’ hand, and disappeared. When Cercas had read the letter, she changed colour and seemed to become a different being. Overcome with rage, she could not speak, but sang, “The tiger follows the lion’s trail.” “Ildico, you have found a friend,” she said at last. “You have a friend here in the room, here at the window, here on your breast.” And she threw herself on the Burgundian maiden’s breast, weeping and laughing alternately. “Give me your needle--your fine beautiful needle; I will thread it. No! I will sharpen it on steel; no, I will dip it in my perfume-flask, my own special little perfume flask, and then together we will sew up the Tiger’s mouth, so that he can bite no more!” “Let me read your letter,” Ildico interrupted. “You cannot. I will tell you what it says. He, our master, woos again for the hand of the daughter of the Emperor Valens--Honoria, and this time he has vowed to burn us all;--that he calls giving us an honourable burial.” Ildico reached out her hand as an answer, “Very well, to-night. A single needle-prick will deprive the world of its ruler!” * * * * * Edeko and Orestes had thoroughly rested from their journey in the guest-house. At noon, when they wished to go out, they found the door bolted. “Are we prisoners? Have we fallen into a trap?” asked the Roman. “We have not had any food either,” answered Edeko. Then two voices were heard without: “We will strangle them; that is the simplest way.”