"Chares!" Thais replied. "Do you see that crimson cloak and his yellow hair? O my hero!"
Artemisia trembled and her cheek grew pale.
"If that is Chares, then Clearchus must be there too," she faltered. "Oh, Thais, are you sure?"
She strove to look, but the tears that dimmed her eyes prevented her from seeing anything clearly.
"I am certain," Thais replied. "Who else could it be? There is no other in the army so strong and handsome as he. Look! he is signalling to us."
The figure in crimson stood forward from the rest, his cloak, inflated by the wind, swelling back from his shoulders. He waved his hand toward the city. Thais tore off her saffron shawl and waved it in return, forgetting that, while he stood alone, to him she was one of thousands who were moving on the walls and the house-tops.
"I suppose you would bring them over if you could!" sneered a voice behind her. It was Phradates, who had approached unnoticed.
"Can you blame me if I want to win my wager?" Thais replied, smiling.
"I am half sorry I made it," the Phœnician said sullenly.
Thais saw that he was angry and she leaned toward him until he felt her warm breath upon his cheek.