Either Ramses did not hear these various opinions, or did not consider them. As to the spectacle, two episodes were fixed in his memory: victory over the bull had been snatched from him by the Assyrian, who had also paid court to Kama, and she had received his attentions most willingly.
Since he might not bring the Phoenician priestess to his palace, he sent one day a letter to her in which he declared that he wished to see her, and inquired when she would receive him. Through the same messenger Kama replied that she would wait for him that evening.
Barely had the stars shown themselves, when the prince (with the greatest secrecy, as he thought) slipped out of the palace, and went to the villa. The garden of the temple of Astaroth was almost empty, especially near the house of the priestess. The building was silent, and inside only two tapers were burning.
When the prince knocked timidly, the priestess herself drew the door open. In the dark antechamber she kissed his hand, whispering that she would have died had the raging bull injured him in the arena.
"But now Thou must be at rest, since thy lover saved me," said the prince.
When they entered the lighted chamber, Ramses saw that Kama was weeping.
"What does this mean?" inquired he.
"The heart of my lord has turned from me," said she; "but perhaps justly."
The heir laughed bitterly in answer.
"Then, sacred virgin, Thou art already his mistress, or about to be?"