“Out with it,” he insisted more calmly.  “What is it?  Power, wealth or a wife?  These three things I have to give thee.  Take thy choice.”

“I would have thee use me respectfully, reverently,” Har-hat retorted warmly.  “I would have thee speak favorably of me; I would have thee do me no injustice by deed or word, nor peril my standing with the king!  This I demand of thee—­I will not buy it!”

“To be plain,” Rameses continued placidly, “thou wouldst insure to thyself the position of fan-bearer.  Say on.”

“I am fan-bearer to the king,” Har-hat continued with a show of increasing heat, “and I would fill mine office.  If thou art to be his adviser in my stead, do thou take up the plumes, and I will return to Bubastis.”

“Once again I shall interpret.  I am to keep silence in the council chamber and resign to thee the molding of my plastic father.  It is well, for I am not pleased with ruling before I wear the crown.  But mark me!  Thou shalt not advise me when I rule over Egypt.  So take heed to my father’s health and see that his life is prolonged, for with its end shall end thine advisership.  What more?”

“So thou observest these things I am satisfied.”

“Gods! but thou art moderate.  Masanath is worth more than that.  Do I take her?”

“She does not love thee.”

The prince waved his hand and repeated his question.

“I shall speak with her,” Har-hat responded, “and give thee her word.”

For a moment the prince contemplated the fan-bearer, then he turned without a word and strode out of the chamber.  In a corridor near his own apartments he overtook the daughter of Har-hat.  Her woman was with her.

The prince stepped before them.

The attendant crouched and fled somewhere out of sight.  Masanath drew herself to the fullest of her few inches and waited for Rameses to speak.

“Come, Masanath,” he said, “thou canst reach the limit of thy power to be ungracious and but fix me the firmer in my love for thee.  I am come to tell thee that I have won thee from thy father.”

“Thou hast not won me from myself,” she replied.

“Nay, but I shall.”

“Thou dost overestimate thyself,” she retorted.  Catching up the fan and chaplet that her woman had let fall she made as though to run past him.  But he put himself in her way, and with shining eyes, caught her in his arms.

“There, there! my sweet.  I shall do thee no hurt,” he laughed, quieting her struggles with an iron embrace.

“Thou art hurting me beyond any cure now,” she panted wrathfully.

“It is thy fault.  Have I not said I am sated with submission?  If thou wouldst unlock mine arms, kiss me and tell me thou wilt be my queen.”

“Let me go,” she exclaimed, choking with emotion.

“Better for thee to tell me ‘yes’; thou wilt save thy father a lie.”