Who was the scoundrel?
Did she not name him?
Try to remember." Scherau bit his red lips, and tried for composure.

His tears ceased, and suddenly he exclaimed, as he put his hand into the breast of his ragged little garment: "Stay, perhaps you will know him again--I made him!" "You did what ?" asked the prince.
"I made him," repeated the little artist, and he carefully brought out an object wrapped up in a scrap of rag, "I could just see his head quite clearly from one side all the time he was speaking, and my clay lay by me.

I always must model something when my mind is excited, and this time I quickly made his face, and as the image was successful, I kept it about me to show to the master when Hekt was out." While he spoke he had carefully unwrapped the figure with trembling fingers, and had given it to Uarda.
"Ani!" cried the prince.

"He, and no other! Who could have thought it! What spite has he against Pentaur?
What is the priest to him ?" For a moment he reflected, then he struck his hand against his forehead.
"Fool that I am!" he exclaimed vehemently.

"Child that I am! of course, of course; I see it all.