Setchem rose and went up to Pentaur, she smiled at him and stroked his
face and breast.

"It is he," she said. "May the Immortals bless him!"

Pentaur would have clasped her in his arms, but she pushed him away as if
she feared to commit some breach of faith, and turning hastily to the
bier she said softly:

Poor Paaker--poor, poor Paaker!"

"Mother, mother, do you not know your son?" cried Pentaur deeply moved.

She turned to him again: "It is his voice," she said. "It is he."

She went up to Pentaur, clung to him, clasped her arm around his neck as
he bent over her, then kissing him fondly:

"The Gods will bless you!" she said once more. She tore herself from him
and threw herself down by the body of Paaker, as if she had done him some
injustice and robbed him of his rights.

Thus she remained, speechless and motionless, till they carried her back
to her boat, there she lay down, and refused to take any nourishment;
from time to time she whispered "Poor Paaker!" She no longer repelled
Pentaur, for she did not again recognize him, and before he left her she
had followed the rough-natured son of her adoption to the other world.