Queen Atlana was tall, gracious, lovely. She was Atlano’s cousin, being the daughter of his father’s brother by a princess of Khemi. Owing to her Semitic blood, hers was not the complexion of the true Atlanteans. In her, the mixture of the red and yellow had produced a richness of skin whose tints were of the olive and the peach. Her eyes were brown, large, soft, and lustrous; her hair, black and waving, and worn in high braids about her head. Her features were straight, the forehead receding but little, and the mouth beautiful and tender.
Her robe was of fine white linen, embroidered in buff; and hung from her shoulders in folds to the floor, being confined at the waist by a golden girdle. Her perfect arms were bare and without ornament. With a grace bewitching, she moved toward the king, her face flushing sweetly, and said low in love:
“With joy I greet thee, Atlano.”
He took her extended hand and led her to her couch, responding, as he sat down beside her, “With the like feeling do I greet thee, Atlana.”
Her eyes lighted gladly. Such crumbs had begun to fall rarely from the king’s table, and, therefore, had now the fullness of the banqueting board. Smiling, she said:
“Thou art happy, Atlano. Comest thou from the meeting of the captains?”
“The captains left an hour hence. Since then we have had thought for matters of weight.”
There was a strange exultation about him. She looked at him in inquiry.
“Thou askest not of the meeting.”
“It was in my thought. Tell me of it.”