King Tsongor turned around. He looked at his daughter. Everything that he had undertaken these past few months had been for her wedding. This day had become an obsession for him, father and king both. That all should be ready. That the celebration should be the most splendid that the empire had ever known. This was all that he had worked for. To give his daughter to a man and thus to unite his empire with another, for the first time without war or conquest. He personally had thought our every detail of the celebration. He had lain awake for entire nights. Now today was the day, and an unforeseen event made everything uncertain. He gazed at his daughter. What he had to say, he did not wish to say to her. What he needed to ask, he would have liked not to have to ask Her. But the flames were burning, and he could not ignore their appetite. "I have had a visit from Sango Kerim," he said. "The women of my retinue informed me of it, Father." Samilia looked at her father. She read a torment on his face that she did not understand. Tsongor had chosen Kouame and she had accepted him. He had spoken to her with softness and sympathy of a young prince from the salt lands and she had offered herself for this union joyfully. She did not understand what, at this hour, could so darken her father's face. All was ready. All that remained was to celbrate the marriage and to enjoy the celebration. "His arrival should have filled me with joy, Samilia," resumed Tsongor. The king did not finish his phrase. A long silence followed. Once agan, he was plunged into contemplation of the whirling the swallows wove in the sky. Then, suddenly, he recovered. His eyes fell once more on his daughter, and he asked her ina broken voice: "Is it true Samilia, that at the time when you were friends, you and Sango Kerim, you exchanged a promise?" Samilia made no reply. She searched her memory for something that might resemble what her father was asking. "Is it ture," repeated Tsongor, "that yo