It was nearly mid-day, and only wanted a few hours to the time fixed for
Nitetis' disgrace, when a caravan approached the gate with great speed.
The first carriage was a so-called harmamaxa, drawn by four horses decked
out with bells and tassels; a two-wheeled cart followed, and last in the
train was a baggage-wagon drawn by mules. A fine, handsome man of about
fifty, dressed as a Persian courtier, and another, much older, in long
white robes, occupied the first carriage. The cart was filled by a
number of slaves in simple blouses, and broad-brimmed felt hats, wearing
the hair cut close to the head. An old man, dressed as a Persian
servant, rode by the side of the cart. The driver of the first carriage
had great difficulty in making way for his gaily-ornamented horses
through the crowd; he was obliged to come to a halt before the gate and
call some whip-bearers to his assistance. "Make way for us!" he cried
to the captain of the police who came up with some of his men; "the royal
post has no time to lose, and I am driving some one, who will make you
repent every minute's delay."

"Softly, my son," answered the official. "Don't you see that it's easier
to-day to get out of Babylon, than to come in? Whom are you driving?"

"A nobleman, with a passport from the king. Come, be quick and make way
for us."

"I don't know about that; your caravan does not look much like royalty."

"What have you to do with that? The pass...."
"I must see it, before I let you into the city." These words were halfmeant for the
traveller, whom he was scrutinizing very suspiciously.

While the man in the Persian dress was feeling in his sleeve for the