Kenkenes looked at him with a full realization of the incongruity of the
youth of the man and the weight of the office that was his.

But at close range the scribe's face was young only in feature and tint.
He was born of an Egyptian and a Danaid, and the blond alien mother had
impressed her own characteristics very strongly on her son.

He had a plump figure with handsome curves, waving, chestnut hair and a
fair complexion. Nose and forehead were in line. The eyes were of that
type of gray that varies in shade with the mental state. His temper
displayed itself only in their sudden hardening into the hue of steel;
content and happiness made them blue. They were always steady and
comprehending, so that whoever entered his presence for the first time
said to himself: "Here is a man that discovers my very soul."

Whatever other blunder Meneptah might have made, he had redeemed himself
in the wisdom he displayed in choosing his scribe. Kenkenes had been led
to ask how Hotep had come to his place.

"My superior, Pinem, died without a son," the scribe had explained; "and
as my record was clean, and the princes had ever been my patrons, the
Pharaoh exalted me to the scribeship."

Kenkenes had then set down a mark in favor of the princes.

"I doubt not," the scribe observed at last, "that my time of ease is
short-lived."

The sculptor looked at him with inquiry in his eyes.