having to
appear before him again came upon her, for she well knew, and now heard
from all sides, that the destruction of the magazines would oblige the
King to surrender to his enemies.

Himself she did not see. Even when he found a moment in which to ask
personally after her health, she had conjured the astonished Aspa on no
account to let him approach her, although she had left her couch many
days ago, and had frequently admitted the poor of the city; had,
indeed, invited the sufferers to apply to her for help.

At such times she had given the provisions intended for herself and her
attendants to the poor with her own hands, and divided amongst them her
jewels and gold with unlimited generosity.

It was one of these visits that she was expecting, after having been
petitioned by a man in a brown mantle and steel cap to grant a private
audience to a poor woman of her nation. "She has a message which
concerns the King. She has to warn you of some treachery which
threatens his crown and perhaps his life," the man had said.

Mataswintha at once granted his request.

Even if it were a mistake, an excuse, she could now never more refuse
to admit any one who came with a message concerning the King's safety.
She ordered the woman to come at sunset.

The sun had gone down.

In the south there is almost no twilight, and it was nearly dark when a
slave beckoned to the woman, who had been waiting in the court for some
time, to come forward.

The Queen, sick and sleepless during the night, had only fallen asleep
at the eighth hour. She had just awoke, and was very weak.
Notwithstanding, she would receive the woman, because she said her
message concerned the King.

"But is that really true?" inquired the slave----it was Aspa. "I should
not like to disturb my mistress without cause. If you only want gold,
say so freely; you shall have as much as you wish--only spare my
mistress. Does it really concern the King?"

"It does."

With a sigh, Aspa led the woman into the Queen's chamber.

The form of Mataswintha, clad in light white garments, her head and
hair covered by a folded kerchief, was relieved against the dark
background of the spacious chamber, lying upon a couch, near which
stood a round table in mosaic. The golden lamp, which was fixed to the
wall above the table, shed a faint light.

Mataswintha rose and seated herself, with an air of fatigue, upon the
edge of her couch.

"Draw near," she said to the woman.