and could not forget, begot a fresh delusion in his mind.
He believed from that moment, that the eyes of women had power to poison
him; he started and hid himself behind his companions whenever he saw
a woman, and at last commanded that all the female inhabitants of the
palace at Memphis, his mother not excepted, should be sent back to
Ecbatana. Araspes and Gyges were appointed to be their escort thither.

......................

The caravan of queens and princesses had arrived at Sais; they alighted
at the royal palace. Croesus had accompanied them thus far on their way
from Egypt.

Kassandane had altered very much during the last few years. Grief and
suffering had worn deep lines in her once beautiful face, though they
had had no power to bow her stately figure.

Atossa, on the contrary, was more beautiful than ever, notwithstanding
all she had suffered. The refractory and impetuous child, the daring
spirited girl, had developed into a dignified, animated and determined
woman. The serious side of life, and three sad years passed with her
ungovernable husband and brother, had been first-rate masters in the
school of patience, but they had not been able to alienate her heart
from her first love. Sappho's friendship had made up to her in some
measure for the loss of Darius.

The young Greek had become another creature, since the mysterious
departure of her husband. Her rosy color and her lovely smile were both
gone. But she was wonderfully beautiful, in spite of her paleness, her
downcast eyelashes and languid attitude. She looked like Ariadne waiting
for Theseus. Longing and expectation lay in every look, in the low tone
of her voice, in her measured walk. At the sound of approaching steps,
the opening of a door or the unexpected tones of a man's voice, she
would start, get up and listen, and then sink back into the old waiting,
longing attitude, disappointed but not hopeless. She began to dream
again, as she had been so fond of doing in her girlish days.

She was her old self only when playing with her child. Then the color
came back to her cheeks, her eyes sparkled, she seemed once more to live
in the present, and not only in the past or future.

Her child was everything to her. In that little one Bartja seemed to
be still alive, and she could love the child with all her heart and
strength, without taking one iota from her love to him. With this little
creature the gods had mercifully given her an aim