Clytemnestra bowed coldly, and said she was sure it would be vastly amusing. Did the Princess intend giving any public entertainments?
'She is our visitor,' Agamemnon put in warningly; while Cassandra smiled satirically, and said nothing at all.
Clytemnestra hoped she might be able to induce her to stay longer, a week was such a _very_ short time.
'She has kindly consented to stay on a little longer, my love,' said Agamemnon--'all her life,' in fact.'
The Queen was charmed to hear it; it was so very nice and kind of her, particularly as strangers were apt to find the neighbourhood an unhealthy one.
And as Ægisthus joined them just then, she presented him to the King, with the remark that he had been the most faithful and devoted of courtiers during the whole period of the King's absence; to which Agamemnon replied, with the slightest of scowls, that he was delighted to make the acquaintance of Mr. Ægisthus; and after that no one seemed to know exactly what to say for a minute or two.
At last Ægisthus hazarded a supposition that the royal warrior had found it warm over at Troy.
'It varied, sir,' said the monarch, uncomfortably; 'the climate varied. I used to get very warm fighting sometimes.'
Ægisthus agreed that a battle must be hot work, and Clytemnestra suddenly exclaimed that her husband was wearing the very same dear shabby old uniform he had on when he went away.
'The very same,' said Agamemnon, smiling. 'I wore it all through the campaign. Your true warrior is no dandy!'
'We were given to understand you were wounded,' remarked Ægisthus.
'Oh,' said the King, 'yes; I was considerably wounded--all over the chest and arms. But what cared I?'
'Exactly,' said Ægisthus; 'and, curiously enough, the weapons don't seem to have pierced your coat at all. I observe there are no patches.'
'No,' the King replied; 'so you noticed that, eh? Well, the reason of that is that those fellows out there have a peculiar sort of way of cutting and slashing, so as to----'
And he explained this by some elaborate illustrations with his sheathed sword, until Ægisthus said that he thought he understood how it was done.
But Clytemnestra suddenly, with a kitten-like girlishness that sat but ill upon her, pounced playfully upon the weapon. 'I want to see it drawn,' she cried; 'I want to look upon the keen flashing blade which has penetrated the inmost recesses of so many of our country's foes. Oh, it won't come out,' she added, as she attempted to pull it out of the scabbard; '_do_ make it come out!'