“Breath of Hathor! ’Tis the work of Ptah, nay, of Khnum himself, Fashioner of Mankind! None but a god could thus turn stone to flesh, put breath in the nostrils, life in the eye!
“Ah Syrian! if this be Syrian art, my heated arguments were but wasted breath! Compared to our Egyptian figures, shackled, mummified, as lifeless as the granite they are carved in, here stands grace and freedom, life itself!
“By the Theban Triad, the very blind would know this figure for the Princess, the Lady Sesen...!”
Menna broke off abruptly. Sesen?
Suddenly Menna’s face flamed in anger. Could there indeed be something between the Princess and this slave, this nobody?
Nay, as far as the Princess was concerned, Menna felt sure that Bar’s reports of Renny’s heedless temerity were false. At the moment Menna felt sure that he had good cause to trust the Princess. He fingered a scented note tucked in his jeweled belt.
But Renny...?
Menna shook his perfumed wig, and turning, spoke the young man’s name. Thrice he called, then strode to the half opened door.
Renny had vanished.
With a threatening imprecation the irate Overseer turned once more to the statue.