She was aroused in the middle of the first watch by the passage of her
litter between bewildering stretches of lights. She was within the
palace. The soldiers that bore her were tramping over a Damascene
carpet, and between long lines of groveling attendants, through an
atmosphere of overwhelming perfume. The messenger had been swift and the
court had had time to prepare to greet the coming crown princess with
propriety.
After the first spasm of terror, Masanath set her teeth and prepared to
endure. She was borne to the doors of the throne-room and two nobles
gorgeously habited set the carved steps beside the litter for her feet.
Without hesitation she descended.
The great hall was ablaze with light and lined with courtiers. The
Pharaoh, with the queen by his side again, was in his place under the
canopy.
How tiny the little bride seemed to those gathered to greet her! In that
vast chamber, with its remote ceiling, its majestic pillars, its
distances and sonorous echoes, her littleness was pathetically
accentuated.
Outside the shelter of her litter, she felt stripped of all protection.
She dared not look at the ranks of courtiers, lest her gaze fall on the
fair face of the royal scribe.
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