with him. A fan of shimmering peacocks' feathers was put into his
hand. Other boys had similar fans, and with half-bared limbs stood
close to the guests and fanned them into coolness. Young Jesus was to
do that for Pharaoh, but he did not do it, and sat on the floor and
never grew weary of looking at Pharaoh's pale face. The king answered
his gaze kindly: "I think that is the proud youth from the Nile, who
does not desire to sit at the feet of Pharaoh."

"He shall sit at the right hand of God," sang the choir. Slowly, with
the air of an irritated lion, the king turned his head in order to see
what stupid choirmaster mingled Hebrew verses with the hymn of Osiris.
Then ensued noise and confusion. The windows, behind which was the
darkness, shone with a red light. The people had assembled before the
palace with torches in order to do homage to Pharaoh, the son of Light.
The king looked annoyed. Such homage was repeated every new moon--he
desired it, and yet it bored him. He beckoned to the cup-bearers, he
wanted a goblet of wine. That brought the blood to his cheeks, and the
light to his eyes. He joined in the hymn of praise to Osiris, and his
whole form glowed with strength and gladness.

When the quiet night succeeded the luxurious day, so still was it that
the lapping of the waves of the Nile might be heard. Jesus lay on a
curtained couch of down, and could not sleep. How well he had slept in
the hut by the Nile! He was hot and rose and looked out of the window.
The stars sparkled like tiny suns. He lay down again, prayed to his
Father, and fell asleep. The next day, when the feast was over, he
would find the rooms in which the old writings were kept, and the
teachers who would instruct him. But it was not like the feast that
comes to an end; it was repeated every day at the king's court.