“You stopped—­with that little hussy—­on your way to me—­stopped to trifle and flirt with her!  Shame!  Yes, I say shame!  Men are thought lucky in being light-hearted, but, for my part, may the gods preserve me from such luck!  Trifling, whispering, caressing—­a tender squeeze of the hand—­solemnly, passionately earnest!—­And what next?  Who dares warrant that it will not all be repeated before the shadows are an ell long on the shore!”

She laughed, a sharp, bitter laugh; but it was a short one.  She ceased and turned pale, for her lover’s face had undergone a change that terrified her.  The scar on his forehead was purple, and his voice was strange, harsh and hoarse as he leaned forward to bring his face on a level with hers, and said: 

“Even if you had seen me with your own eyes you ought not to have believed them!  And if you dare to say that you do believe it, I can say Shame! as well as you.  My life may be at stake but I say:  Shame!”

As he spoke he clutched the back of a chair with convulsive fury and stood facing the girl like an avenging god of war, his eyes flashing to meet hers.  This was too much for old Damia; she could contain herself no longer, and striking her crutch on the floor she broke out: 

“What next shall we hear!  You threaten and storm at the daughter of this house as if she were a soldier in your camp!  Listen to me, my fine gentleman, and mind what I say:  In the house of a free Alexandrian citizen no one has any right to give his orders—­be he Caesar, Consul or Comes; he has only to observe the laws of good manners.”  Then turning to Gorgo she shook her head with pathetic emphasis; “This, my love, is the consequence of too much familiar condescension.  Come, an end of this!  Greeting and parting often go hand in hand.”

The prefect turned on his heel and went towards the steps leading to the garden; but Gorgo flew after him and seized his hand, calling out to the old woman: 

“No, no, grandmother; he is in the right, I am certain he is in the right.  Stop, Constantine—­wait, stay, and forgive my folly!  If you love me, mother, say no more—­he will explain it all presently.”

The soldier heaved a sigh of relief and assented in silence, while the slave went on with her story:  “And when my lord Constantine was gone, my lord Demetrius came and he—­but what should poor Sachepris say—­ask my lord Demetrius himself to tell you.”

“That is soon done,” replied Demetrius, who had failed to understand a great deal of all that had been going forward.  My brother Marcus is over head and ears in love with the little puss—­she is a pretty creature—­and to save that simple soul from mischief I thought I would take the business on my own shoulders which are broader and stronger than his.  I went boldly to work and offered the girl—­more shame for me, I must say—­the treasures of Midas; however, offering is one thing and accepting is another, and the child snapped me