had finished, without uttering a word. At last Bartja raised his hands
to heaven and cried: "O thou great Auramazda! why dost thou not grant us
a glorious end like Abradatas? Why must we die a shameful death like
murderers?"

As he said this Croesus came in, fettered and led by whip-bearers. The
friends rushed to him with a storm of questions, and Bartja too went up
to embrace the man who had been so long his tutor and guide. But the old
man's cheerful face was severe and serious, and his eyes, generally so
mild, had a gloomy, almost threatening, expression. He waved the prince
coldly back, saying, in a voice which trembled with pain and reproach:
"Let my hand go, you infatuated boy! you are not worth all the love I
have hitherto felt for you. You have deceived your brother in a fourfold
manner, duped your friends, betrayed that poor child who is waiting for
you in Naukratis, and poisoned the heart of Amasis' unhappy daughter."

Bartja listened calmly till he heard the word "deceived"; then his hand
clenched, and stamping his foot, he cried: "But for your age and
infirmities, and the gratitude I owe you, old man, these slanderous words
would be your last."

Croesus beard this outbreak of just indignation unmoved, and answered:
"This foolish rage proves that you and Cambyses have the same blood in
your veins. It would become you much better to repent of your crimes,
and beg your old friend's forgiveness, instead of adding ingratitude to
the unheard-of baseness of your other deeds."

At these words Bartja's anger gave way. His clenched hands sank down
powerless at his side, and his cheeks became pale as death.