Then he spoke to the cloaked figures in a low clear voice—
“At length the day of our triumph has arrived, but in the very hour of victory a most difficult problem has arisen. In every respect save one the wisdom of our revered ancestor”—and he turned to the sleeping figure—“has proved faultless. But the continuous degradation of the women of our race has failed in both its objects. For, in the first place, I have proved beyond doubt that our ruling race has degenerated. With the single exception of myself, we are all inferior to our predecessors, and in the last generation, which should take your place, there is not one worthy successor.
“And, furthermore, this treatment has failed to eradicate love, for,” he continued, drawing away from Daphne her mask and disguise, “I, your vice-regent, love this maiden most passionately.”
A look of dismay overspread the faces of his audience. They started back, as if some monster, and not a most beautiful woman, had been revealed to them. Amazed and confounded, they gazed on one another like men suddenly stricken with hopeless foolishness.
Thoth eyed them for a time with curious contempt, and then continued—
“Degenerate ye are in very deed, but it is not you whom I must consult. Recover your senses, and prepare to rouse the sleepers.”
Thoth then gave certain directions, and his comrades dispersed. In a short time they returned to their former position, and Daphne observed a peculiar pungent odour, gradually increasing in intensity, pervade the air.
Thoth took her hand and whispered to her words of encouragement. She knew that the eventful moment had arrived. Like a bird fascinated by a snake, she kept her eyes on the pale face of the sleeping tyrant.
In a few moments his eyelids began to tremble, and a faint flush appeared in his cheeks. Then he seemed to begin to breathe again. His lips parted, and slowly his eyes opened.
Daphne glanced round the chamber, and saw that all the sleepers had been similarly affected.