The dazzling light and oppressive heat of a Babylonian May day came in through the open windows, and not a sound was to be heard in the great room, except the whining of a large dog of the Epirote breed, which had just received a tremendous kick from Cambyses for venturing to fawn on his master, and was the only being that ventured to disturb the solemn stillness.

Just before Hystaspes was led in by the chamberlain, Cambyses had sprung up from his couch.

This idle repose had become unendurable, he felt suffocated with pain and anger.

The dog's howl suggested a new idea to his poor tortured brain, thirsting for forgetfulness.
"We will go out hunting!" he shouted to the poor startled courtiers.

The master of the hounds, the equerries, and huntsmen hastened to obey his orders.