behind me. And yet Katuti, my friend, wisest of women--explain to me one
thing. When I was young I was loved by many and admired many women, but
not one of them--not even my wife, who died young, was more to me than a
toy, a plaything; and now when I stretch out my hand for a girl, whose
father I might very well be--not for her own sake, but simply to serve my
purpose--and she refuses me, I feel as much disturbed, as much a fool as-
as that dealer in love-philters, Paaker."

"Have you spoken to Bent-Anat?" asked Katuti.

"And heard again from her own lips the refusal she had sent me through
you. You see my spirit has suffered!"

"And on what pretext did she reject your suit?" asked the widow.

"Pretext!" cried Ani. "Bent-Anat and pretext! It must be owned that
she has kingly pride, and not Ma--[The Goddess of Truth]--herself is more
truthful than she. That I should have to confess it! When I think of
her, our plots seem to me unutterably pitiful. My veins contain, indeed,
many drops of the blood of Thotmes, and though the experience of life has
taught me to stoop low, still the stooping hurts me. I have never known
the happy feeling of satisfaction with my lot and my work; for I have
always had a greater position than I could fill, and constantly done less
than I ought to have done. In order not to look always resentful, I
always wear a smile. I have nothing left of the face I was born with but
the mere skin, and always wear a mask. I serve him whose master I
believe I ought to be by birth; I hate Rameses, who, sincerely or no,
calls me his brother; and while I stand as if I were the bulwark of his
authority I am diligently undermining it. My whole existence is a lie."