They had reached the topmost flight of stairs, and Sesostris had stopped as if embarrassed whether to invite his deliverer in to enjoy some hospitality, or say him farewell.

Then of a sudden from behind the closed door came a clear, sweet, girlish voice, singing, in Greek:-- "O Aitne, mother mine: A grotto fair Scooped in the rocks have I, and there I keep All that in dreams man pictures! Treasured there Are multitudes of she-goats and of sheep, Swathed in whose wool from top to toe I sleep." It was an idyl of Theocritus, very well known by Agias, and without the least hesitation he took up the strain, and continued:-- "The fire boils my pot; with oak or beech Is piled,--dry beech logs when the snow lies deep.
And storm and sunshine, I disdain them each As toothless sires a nut, when broth is in their reach."[98] [98] Calverly's translation.
Agias paused.

There was a silence, then a giggle behind the door, and it half opened, and out peered the plump and rosy face of the young girl we have heard Pratinas salute as his niece, Artemisia.

The moment she caught sight of the rather manly form of Agias, the door started to close with a slam, but the latter thrust out his foot, blocked the door, and forced an entrance.
"_Eleleu!_" cried Agias, pushing into a small but neatly furnished room.

"What have we here?
Do the muses sing in Subura?
Has Sappho brought hither her college of poetesses from Lesbos ?" "_Ai!_" exclaimed Artemisia, drawing back, "who are you?
You're dreadfully rude.