Har-hat sprang forward as the king lifted an amazed and angry face.
"Back!" she cried, motioning at him with her full arm. "It is time the
Hathors overtook thee, thou ineffable knave!"
"I protest!" the fan-bearer cried, losing his temper.
"Enough of this play," Meneptah said sternly. "Go on with thy tale,
Ta-user. I would know the truth of this."
"Thou wilt not learn it from the princess," Har-hat exclaimed.
"Ah!" Ta-user ejaculated, a world of innocence, surprise and wounded feeling in the word.
"Thy words do not become thee, Har-hat," Meneptah said. The fan-bearer closed his lips and gazed fixedly at the princess.
She drooped her head and went on in a voice low with hurt.
"The gods judge me if my every word is not true! Har-hat imprisoned him because the gallant young man loved the maiden whom Har-hat would have taken for his harem."
Meneptah's face blazed. "Go on," he said sharply.