“You seem to have an unusual kindliness for this rebel Nais,” said Phorenice.
“She showed herself to me as more clever and thoughtful than the common herd.”
“Ay,” she answered, with a sigh that I think was real enough in its way, “an Empress loses much that meaner woman gets as her common due.”
“In what particular?”
“She misses the honest wooing of her equals.”
“If you set up for a Goddess—” I said.
“Pah! I wish to be no Goddess to you, Deucalion. That was for the common people; it gives me more power with them; it helps my schemes. All you Seven higher priests know that trick of calling down the fire, and it pleased me to filch it. Can you not be generous, and admit that a woman may be as clever in finding out these natural laws as your musty elder priests?”
“Remains that you are Empress.”
“Nor Empress either. Just think that there is a woman seated beside you on this cushion, Deucalion, and look upon her, and say what words come first to your lips. Have done with ceremonies, and have done with statecraft. Do you wish to wait on as you are till all your manhood withers? It is well not to hurry unduly in these matters: I am with you there. Yet, who but a fool watches a fruit grow ripe, and then leaves it till it is past its prime?”
I looked on her glorious beauty, but as I live it left me cold. But I remembered the command that had been laid upon me, and forced a smile. “I may have been fastidious,” I said, “but I do not regret waiting this long.”