“And my god-father Stauracius,” she interrupted. “----And my god-father Stauracius,” I echoed, “for her and his goodness towards me. Yet with humility I venture to say that I am a soldier who knows nothing whatsoever of the duties of a chamberlain and of a Master of the Palace, and, therefore, I beg that someone else more competent may be chosen to fill these high offices.” On hearing these words Stauracius stared at me with his round and owl-like eyes. Never before had he known an officer in Constantinople who wished to decline power and more pay. Scarcely, indeed, could he believe his ears. But the Augusta only laughed. “Baptism has not changed you, Olaf,” she said, “who ever were simple, as I believe your duties will be. At any rate, your god-father and god-mother will instruct you in them--especially your god-mother. So no more of such foolish talk. Stauracius, you may be gone to attend to the affairs of which we have been speaking, as I see you burn to do, and take those secretaries with you, for the scratching of their pens sets my teeth on edge. Bide here a moment, General, for as Master of the Palace it will be your duty to receive certain guests to-day of whom I wish to speak with you. Bide you also, Martina, that you may remember my words in case this unpractised officer should forget them.” Stauracius and his secretaries bowed themselves out, leaving the three of us alone. “Now, Olaf, or Michael--which do you wish to be called?” “It is more easy for a man to alter his nature than his name,” I answered. “Have you altered your nature? If so, your manners remain much what they were. Well, then, be Olaf in private and Michael in public, for often an alias is convenient enough. Hark! I would read you a lesson. As the wise King Solomon said, ‘Everything has its place and time.’ It is good to repent you of your sins and to think about your soul, but I pray you do so no more at my feasts, especially when they are given in your honour. Last night you sat at the board like a mummy at an Egyptian banquet. Had your skull stood on it, filled with wine, it could scarce have looked grimmer than did your face. Be more cheerful, I pray you, or I will have you tonsured and promoted to be a bishop, like that old heretic Barnabas of whom you are so fond. Ah! you smile at last, and I am glad to see it. Now hearken again. This afternoon there comes to the palace a certain old Egyptian named Magas, whom I place in your especial charge, and with him his wife--at least, I think she is his wife.” “Nay, Mistress, his daughter,” interrupted Martina. “Oh! his daughter,” said the Augusta suspiciously. “I did not know she was his daughter. What is she like, Martina?” “I have not seen her, Empress, but someone said that she is a black-looking woman, such as the Nile breeds.”