The cavalry prefect, who knew that, of old, the barge was often used by Porphyrius’ guests, though he did not happen to have heard who were its present occupants—­bowed, with military politeness and precision, to the pretty girl lounging on the deck.  Dada returned the greeting; but this seemed likely to be the end of their acquaintance, for the soldier walked on without turning round.  He looked handsomer even than he had seemed the day before; his hair was freshly oiled and curled, his scale-armor gleamed as brightly, and his crimson tunic was as new and rich as if he were going at once to guard the Imperial throne.  The merchant’s daughter had good taste, but her friend looked no less haughty than herself.  Dada longed to make his acquaintance and find out whether he really had no eyes for any one but Gorgo.  To discover that it was not so, little as she cared about him personally, would have given her infinite satisfaction, and she decided that she must put him to the test.  But there was no time to lose, so, as it would hardly do to call after him, she obeyed a sudden impulse, flung overboard the handsome fan which had been in her possession but one day, and gave a little cry in which alarm and regret were most skilfully and naturally expressed.

This had the wished-for effect.  The officer turned round, his eyes met hers, and Dada leaned far over the boat’s side pointing to the water and exclaiming: 

“It is in the water—­it has fallen into the lake!—­my fan!”

The officer again bowed slightly; then he walked from the path down to the water’s edge, while Dada went on more quietly: 

“There, close there!  Oh, if only you would! . . .

“I am so fond of the fan, it is so pretty.  Do you see, it is quite obliging? it is floating towards you!” Constantine had soon secured the fan, and shook it to dry it as he went across the plank to the vessel.  Dada joyfully received it, stroked the feathers smooth, and warmly thanked its preserver, while he assured her that he only wished he could have rendered her some greater service.  He was then about to retire with a bow no less distant than before, but he found himself unexpectedly detained by the Egyptian slave who, placing herself in his way, kissed the hem of his tunic and exclaimed: 

“What joy for my lord your father and the lady your mother, and for poor Sachepris!  My lord Constantine at home again!”

“Yes, at home at last,” said the soldier in a deep pleasant voice.  “Your old mistress is still hale and hearty?  That is well.  I am on my way to the others.”

“They know that you have come,” replied the slave.  “Glad, they are all glad.  They asked if my lord Constantine forgot old friends.”

“Never, not one!”

“How long now since my lord Constantine went away—­two, three years, and just the same.  Only a cut over the eyes—­may the hand wither that gave the blow!”

Dada had already observed a broad scar which marked the soldier’s brow as high up as she could see it for the helmet, and she broke in: