"If the king were here, he would bid you go," said Atossa, looking intently upon her enemy.
"It is for me to judge what the king would wish me to do—not for you. Leave me in peace. Go your way if you will—it is nothing to me."
"You will not come?" Atossa's voice softened and she smiled serenely. Nehushta turned fiercely upon her.
"No! If you are going—go! I want you not!"
"You are glad I am going, are you not?" asked Atossa, gently.
"I am glad—with a gladness only you can know. I would you were already gone!"
"You rejoice that I leave you alone with your lover. It is very natural——"
"My lover!" cried Nehushta, her wrath rising and blazing in her eyes.
"Ay, your lover! the thin, white-haired priest, that once was Zoroaster—your old lover—your poor old lover!"
Nehushta steadied herself for a moment. She felt as though she must tear this woman in pieces. But she controlled her anger by a great effort, though she was nearly choking as she drew herself up and answered.