Kenkenes, urged by his mission, was departing with the rich and lofty,
when his attention was attracted by the chief leading the section of
royal scribes now passing. His was a compact, plump figure, amply
robed in sheeny linen, and he balanced himself skilfully in his light
shell of a chariot, which bumped over the uneven pavement. He was not
a brilliant mark in the long parade, but something other than his mere
appearance made him conspicuous. Behind him, walking at a respectful
distance, was his corps of subordinates--all mature, many of them aged,
but the years of their chief were fewer than those of the youngest
among them. From the center of the crowd his face appeared boyish, and
the multitude hailed him with delight. But the crown prince himself
was not more unmoved by their acclaim. His silent dignity,
misunderstood, brought forth howls of genuine pleasure, and groups of
young noblemen, out of the great college of Seti I, saluted him by
name, adding thereto exalted titles in good-natured derision.

"Hotep!" ejaculated Kenkenes aloud, catching the name from the lips of
the students. "By Apis, he is the royal scribe!"

Not until then had he realized the extent of his friend's exaltation.

He turned again toward the temple, walking between the crowds and the
marching soldiers, indifferent to the shouts of the spectators--lost in
contemplation. But the procession moved more swiftly than he and the
last rank passed him with half his journey yet to complete. Instantly
the vast throng poured out into the way behind the rearmost soldier and
swallowed up the sculptor in a shifting multitude. For an hour he was
hurried and halted and pushed, progressing little and moving much.
Before he could extricate himself, the runners preceding the pageant