“But here,” said Darius, “we saw a number of splendid temples as we came up from the harbor.”

“Oh, yes, we have several.—­Ah, there comes Zopyrus; the slaves are carrying a perfect grove of garlands behind him.  He’s laughing so heartily, he must have amused himself famously with the flower-girls.  Good-morning, my friend.  The sad news which fills all Naukratis does not seem to disturb you much.”

“Oh, for anything I care, Amasis may go on living a hundred years yet.  But if be dies now, people will have something else to do beside looking after us.  When do you set off for Rhodopis’ house, friends?”

“At dusk.”

“Then please, ask her to accept these flowers from me.  I never thought I could have been so taken by an old woman before.  Every word she says sounds like music, and though she speaks so gravely and wisely it’s as pleasant to the ear as a merry joke.  But I shan’t go with you this time, Bartja; I should only be in the way.  Darius, what have you made up your mind to do?”

“I don’t want to lose one chance of a conversation with Rhodopis.”

“Well, I don’t blame you.  You’re all for learning and knowing everything, and I’m for enjoying.  Friends, what do you say to letting me off this evening?  You see...”

“I know all about it,” interrupted Bartja laughing:  “You’ve only seen the flower-girls by daylight as yet, and you would like to know how they look by lamplight.”

“Yes, that’s it,” said Zopyrus, putting on a grave face.  “On that point I am quite as eager after knowledge as Darius.”

“Well, we wish you much pleasure with your three sisters.”

“No, no, not all three, if you please; Stephanion, the youngest, is my favorite.”

Morning had already dawned when Bartja, Darius and Theopompus left Rhodopis’ house.  Syloson, a Greek noble who had been banished from his native land by his own brother, Polykrates the tyrant, had been spending the evening with them, and was now returning in their company to Naukratis, where he had been living many years.

This man, though an exile, was liberally supplied with money by his brother, kept the most brilliant establishment in Naukratis, and was as famous for his extravagant hospitality as for his strength and cleverness.  Syloson was a very handsome man too, and so remarkable for the good taste and splendor of his dress, that the youth of Naukratis prided themselves on imitating the cut and hang of his robes.  Being unmarried, he spent many of his evenings at Rhodopis’ house, and had been told the secret of her granddaughter’s betrothal.

On that evening it had been settled, that in four days the marriage should be celebrated with the greatest privacy.  Bartja had formally betrothed himself to Sappho by eating a quince with her, on the same day on which she had offered sacrifices to Zeus, Hera, and the other deities who protected marriage.  The wedding-banquet was to be given at the house of Theopompus, which was looked upon as the bridegroom’s.  The prince’s costly bridal presents had been entrusted to Rhodopis’ care, and Bartja had insisted on renouncing the paternal inheritance which belonged to his bride and on transferring it to Rhodopis, notwithstanding her determined resistance.