He looked at her doubtfully, but she drew nearer and lifted her face to his. "I do not ask for thy crown, or thy son, or for an army, or treasure, or anything but that which thou wouldst gladly give me, because of thy just and generous heart." The doubt faded out of his face. "Thou hast my word, Ta-user." "And for that I thank thee." She bent her head and touched her lips to the hand lying nearest her. "Give me ear, then," she continued. "Thou hast among thy ministers a noble genius, the murket, Mentu--" The king broke in with a dry smile. "Wouldst have him for a mate?" She shook her head till the emeralds pendent from the fillet on her forehead clinked together. Nothing could have been more childlike than the pleased smile on her face. "Nay, nay, he would not have me," she protested. "But he hath a son." Har-hat moved forward a pace. She noted the movement and playfully waved him back. "Encroach not. This hour is mine." Har-hat's face wore a dubious smile. "He hath a son," she repeated. "He had a son, but he is dead," the king answered. "Not so! He is in prison where thy counselor, the wicked, unfeeling, jealous, rapacious Har-hat hath entombed him!" Har-hat sprang forward as the king lifted an amazed and angry face. "Back!" she cried, motioning at him with her full arm. "It is time the Hathors overtook thee, thou ineffable knave!" "I protest!" the fan-bearer cried, losing his temper. "Enough of this play," Meneptah said sternly. "Go on with thy tale, Ta-user. I would know the truth of this." "Thou wilt not learn it from the princess," Har-hat exclaimed. "Ah!" Ta-user ejaculated, a world of innocence, surprise and wounded feeling in the word. "Thy words do not become thee, Har-hat," Meneptah said. The fan-bearer closed his lips and gazed fixedly at the princess. She drooped her head and went on in a voice low with hurt. "The gods judge me if my every word is not true! Har-hat imprisoned him because the gallant young man loved the maiden whom Har-hat would have taken for his harem." Meneptah's face blazed. "Go on," he said sharply. "The fan-bearer had some little right on his side, for the young man had committed sacrilege in carving a statue, and had stolen the maiden away and hidden her when Har-hat would have taken her. The maiden is an Israelite, and her hiding-place is known to this day only by herself and her unhappy lover. Now comes thy villainy, O thou short of temper," she continued, looking at the fan-bearer. "Thy father, O Shedder of Light, the Incomparable Pharaoh who reigns in Osiris, gave Mentu a signet--" The king interrupted. "I know of that. Go on."