Zoroaster remained standing for a moment, and then, removing his helmet in salutation, went to one side of the head of the staircase and waited respectfully for the queen to pass.

As she came on, passing alternately through the shadow cast by the columns, and the sunlight that blazed between, her advancing figure flashed with a new illumination at every step.

She made as though she were going straight on, but as she passed over the threshold to the staircase, she suddenly stopped and turned half round, and looked straight at Zoroaster.
"Thou art Zoroaster," she said in a smooth and musical voice, like the ripple of a clear stream flowing through summer meadows.
"I am Zoroaster, thy servant," he answered, bowing his head.

He spoke very coldly.
"I remember thee well," said the queen, lingering by the head of the staircase.

"Thou art little changed, saving that thou art stronger, I should think, and more of a soldier than formerly." Zoroaster stood turning his polished helmet in his hands, but he answered nothing; he cared little for the queen's praises.