light awning. Most of these were occupied by visitors who came to
congratulate the mother of the fame-crowned admiral.

Thyone was reclining on a divan in their midst, submitting with a sigh to
the social duties which her high position imposed upon her.

Her face was turned toward the large doorway of the main entrance, while
she sometimes greeted newly introduced guests, sometimes bade farewell to
departing ones, and meanwhile answered and asked questions.

She had been more wearied by the exertions of the last few days than her
animated manner revealed. Yet as soon as Hermon, leaning on the young
hipparch's arm, approached her, she rose and cordially extended both
hands to him. True, the recovering man was still unable to see her
features distinctly, but he felt the maternal kindness with which she
received him, and what his eyes could not distinguish his ears taught him
in her warm greetings. His heart dilated and, after he had kissed her
dear old hand more than once with affectionate devotion, she led him
among her guests and presented him to them as the son of her dearest
friend.

A strange stir ran through the assembled group, nearly all whose members
belonged to the King's train, and the low whispers and murmurs around him
revealed to Hermon that the false wreaths he wore had by no means been
forgotten in this circle.

A painful feeling of discomfort overwhelmed the man accustomed to the
silence of the desert, and a voice within cried with earnest insistence,
"Away from here!"