“I do not altogether like his company, nor, I think, does the lady Merapi, but he is an ill man to offend, Prince,” I answered. “Look, he is talking with his familiar.” Seti returned to his place, and shaking off the moth which seemed loth to leave him, for twice it settled on his head, Ki came back into the shadow. “Where is the use of your putting questions to me, Ki, when, according to your own showing, already you know the answer that I will give? What answer shall I give?” asked the Prince. “That painted creature which sat upon my hand just now, seemed to whisper to me that you would say, O Prince, ‘Stay, Ki, and be my faithful servant, and use any little lore you have to shield my house from ill.’” Then Seti laughed in his careless fashion, and replied: “Have your way, since it is a rule that none of the royal blood of Egypt may refuse hospitality to those who seek it, having been their friends, and I will not quote against your moth what a bat whispered in my ears last night. Nay, none of your salutations revealed to you by insects or by the future,” and he gave him his hand to kiss. When Ki was gone, I said: “I told you that night-haunting thing was his familiar.” “Then you told me folly, Ana. The knowledge that Ki has he does not get from moths or beetles. Yet now that it is too late I wish that I had asked the lady Merapi what her will was in this matter. You should have thought of that, Ana, instead of suffering your mind to be led astray by an insect sitting on his hand, which is just what he meant that you should do. Well, in punishment, day by day it shall be your lot to look upon a man with a countenance like—like what?” “Like that which I saw upon the coffin of the good god, your divine father, Meneptah, as it was prepared for him during his life in the embalmer’s shop at Tanis,” I answered. “Yes,” said the Prince, “a face smiling eternally at the Nothingness which is Life and Death, but in certain lights, with eyes of fire.” On the following day, by her invitation, I walked with the lady Merapi in the garden, the head nurse following us, bearing the royal child in her arms. “I wish to ask you about Ki, friend Ana,” she said. “You know he is my enemy, for you must have heard the words he spoke to me in the temple of Amon at Tanis. It seems that my lord has made him the guest of this house—oh look!” and she pointed before her. I looked, and there a few paces away, where the shadow of the overhanging palms was deepest, stood Ki. He was leaning on his staff, the same that had turned to a snake in my hand, and gazing upwards like one who is lost in thought, or listens to the singing of birds. Merapi turned as though to fly, but at that moment Ki saw us, although he still seemed to gaze upwards. “Greeting, O Moon of Israel,” he said bowing. “Greeting, O Conqueror of Ki!” She bowed back, and stood still, as a little bird stands when it sees a snake. There was a long silence, which he broke by asking: