had brought Nitetis away.

The king's wives had left, but the concubines were all standing in their
appointed place, singing their monotonous songs, though quite unheard by
the uproarious men.

The drinkers had already long forgotten the fainting woman. The uproar
and confusion rose with every fresh wine-cup. They forgot the dignity of
the place where they were assembled, and the presence of their mighty
ruler.

They shouted in their drunken joy; warriors embraced one another with a
tenderness only excited by wine, here and there a novice was carried away
in the arms of a pair of sturdy attendants, while an old hand at the work
would seize a wine-jug instead of a goblet, and drain it at a draught
amid the cheers of the lookers-on.

The king sat on at the head of the table, pale as death, staring into the
wine-cup as if unconscious of what was going on around hint. But at the
sight of his brother his fist clenched.

He would neither speak to him, nor answer his questions. The longer he
sat there gazing into vacancy, the firmer became his conviction that
Nitetis had deceived him,--that she had pretended to love him while her
heart really belonged to Bartja. How shamefully they had made sport of
him! How deeply rooted must have been the faithlessness of this clever
hypocrite, if the mere news that his brother loved some one else could
not only destroy all her powers of dissimulation, but actually deprive
her of consciousness!