He led her through the various chambers of a house, which seemed to contain to her eyes, inexperienced to other splendor than the minute elegance of Campanian cities, the treasures of the world.

In the walls were set pictures of inestimable art, the lights shone over statues of the noblest age of Greece.  Cabinets of gems, each cabinet itself a gem, filled up the interstices of the columns; the most precious woods lined the thresholds and composed the doors; gold and jewels seemed lavished all around.  Sometimes they were alone in these rooms—­sometimes they passed through silent rows of slaves, who, kneeling as she passed, proffered to her offerings of bracelets, of chains, of gems, which the Egyptian vainly entreated her to receive.

‘I have often heard,’ said she, wonderingly, ’that you were rich; but I never dreamed of the amount of your wealth.’

‘Would I could coin it all,’ replied the Egyptian, ’into one crown, which I might place upon that snowy brow!’

‘Alas! the weight would crush me; I should be a second Tarpeia,’ answered Ione, laughingly.

’But thou dost not disdain riches, O Ione! they know not what life is capable of who are not wealthy.  Gold is the great magician of earth—­it realizes our dreams—­it gives them the power of a god—­there is a grandeur, a sublimity, in its possession; it is the mightiest, yet the most obedient of our slaves.’

The artful Arbaces sought to dazzle the young Neapolitan by his treasures and his eloquence; he sought to awaken in her the desire to be mistress of what she surveyed:  he hoped that she would confound the owner with the possessions, and that the charms of his wealth would be reflected on himself.  Meanwhile, Ione was secretly somewhat uneasy at the gallantries which escaped from those lips, which, till lately, had seemed to disdain the common homage we pay to beauty; and with that delicate subtlety, which woman alone possesses, she sought to ward off shafts deliberately aimed, and to laugh or to talk away the meaning from his warming language.  Nothing in the world is more pretty than that same species of defence; it is the charm of the African necromancer who professed with a feather to turn aside the winds.

The Egyptian was intoxicated and subdued by her grace even more than by her beauty:  it was with difficulty that he suppressed his emotions; alas! the feather was only powerful against the summer breezes—­it would be the sport of the storm.

Suddenly, as they stood in one hall, which was surrounded by draperies of silver and white, the Egyptian clapped his hands, and, as if by enchantment, a banquet rose from the floor—­a couch or throne, with a crimson canopy, ascended simultaneously at the feet of Ione—­and at the same instant from behind the curtains swelled the invisible and softest music.

Arbaces placed himself at the feet of Ione—­and children, young and beautiful as Loves, ministered to the feast.