cutter in marble, who is come to take orders of his royal master.”
At this moment the sound of music broke the whispered silence; the attendants ranged on either side the chamber; the door-curtains were swung apart; and leaning on his friend and favorite, the wise Hephæstion, the royal Alexander entered.
The king’s eyes shone with the pride of conquest, and although his cheek was not yet bronzed with battle-smoke, and his slender supple figure still showed traces of his youthfulness, he bore himself as proudly as if years of triumph and kingly rule had taught him that the globe held no warrior fit to mate with Alexander of Macedon.
He began a whispered talk with Hephæstion, and the attendants fell reverently away, leaving the two standing alone in the centre of the chamber.
“Yonder she stands, Hephæstion,” said the monarch in a subdued voice, “the fairest of all the women mine eyes have ever looked upon.”
“I would that her fairness went no deeper than thine eyes,” returned the favorite. “When a woman’s beauty touches the heart, it waxeth dangerous.”
“And why dangerous, sweet Hephestion? If Alexander is a man, he may love. If he be indeed the son of a god, even then he may not
