Her magnificent beauty had neither changed nor faded in three years.  Such strength as hers was not to be broken, nor worn out, by the mere petty annoyances of palace life.  She could sustain the constant little warfare she waged against the king, without even so much as looking careworn and pale for a moment, though the king himself often looked dark and weary, and his eyes were heavy with sleeplessness for the trouble she gave him.  Yet he could new determine to rid himself of her, even when he began to understand the profound badness of her character.  She exercised a certain fascination over him, as a man grows fond of some beautiful, wicked beast he has half-tamed, though it turn and show its teeth at him sometimes, and be altogether more of a care than a pastime.  She was so fair and evil that he could not hurt her; it would have seemed a crime to destroy anything so wondrously made.  Moreover, she could amuse him and make many an hour pass pleasantly when she was so disposed.

She was fully attired for the banquet that was to take place late in the evening, but her women were still about her, and she looked at herself critically in the mirror, and would have changed the pinning of her tiara, so that her fair hair should fall forward upon one side, instead of backwards over her shoulder.  She tried the effect of the change upon her face, and peered into the mirror beneath the bright light of the tall lamps; when, on a sudden, as she looked, she met the reflection of two angry dark eyes, and she knew that Nehushta was behind her.

She rose to her feet, turning quickly, and the sweep of her long robe overthrew the light carved chair upon the marble floor.  She faced Nehushta with a cold smile that betrayed surprise at being thus interrupted in her toilet rather than any dread of the interview.  Her delicate eyebrows arched themselves in something of scorn, but her voice came low and sweet as ever.

“It is rarely indeed that the queen Nehushta deigns to visit her servant,” she said.  “Had she sent warning of her coming, she would have been more fittingly received.”

Nehushta stood still before her.  She hated that cool, still voice that choked her like a tightening bow-string about her neck.

“We have small need of court formalities,” answered the Hebrew woman, shortly.  “I desire to speak with you alone upon a matter of importance.”

“I am alone,” returned Atossa, seating herself upon the carved chair, which one of the slaves had instantly set up again, and motioning to Nehushta to be seated.  But Nehushta glanced at the serving-women and remained standing.

“You are not alone,” she said briefly.

“They are not women—­they are slaves,” answered Atossa, with a smile.

“Will you not send them away?”

“Why should I?”

“You need not—­I will,” returned Nehushta.  “Begone, and quickly!” she added, turning to the little group of women and slave-girls who stood together, looking on in wonder.  At Nehushta’s imperious command, they hurried through the door, and the curtains fell behind them.  They knew Nehushta’s power in the palace too well to hesitate to obey her, even in the presence of their own mistress.