"Guess. But Thou hast just heard what the poor scribe yielded up for the kiss of a woman."
"But he would not yield up a throne," interrupted the priestess.
"Who knows? if he were implored greatly to do so," whispered Ramses, with passion.
"Oh, no!" cried Kama, tearing away from him; "let not the throne go so easily, for what would become then of thy promise to Phoenicia?"
They looked into each other's eyes for a long time. The prince felt a wound in his heart, and felt as if through that wound some feeling had gone from him. It was not passion, for passion remained; but it was esteem for Kama, and faith in her.
"Wonderful are these Phoenicians," thought the heir; "one may go wild for them, but 'tis not possible to trust them."
He felt wearied, and took farewell of the priestess. He looked around the chamber as though it were difficult to leave the place; and while going, he said to himself,
"And still Thou wilt be mine, and Phoenician gods will not kill thee, if they regard their own priests and temples."
Barely had Ramses left Kama's villa, when into the chamber of the priestess rushed a young Greek who was strikingly beautiful, and strikingly similar to Ramses. Rage was depicted on his face.
"Lykon!" cried the terrified Kama. "What art Thou doing here?"