“Yes, must have happened and has,” interrupted the girl almost beside herself.  “My uncle’s son.—­You were there when he arrived—­and I thought, even I firmly believed that he was worthy of such a reception.—­I—­I—­pity me, for I . . .  You do not know what influence that man exercises over hearts.—­And I—­I believed his eyes, his words, his songs and—­yes, I must confess all—­even his kisses on this hand!  But it was all false, all—­a lie, a cruel sport with a weak, simple heart, or even worse—­more insulting still!  In short, while he was doing all in his power to entrap me—­even the slaves in the barge observed it—­he was in the very act—­I heard it from Dame Neforis, who is only too glad when she can hurt me—­in the very act of suing for the hand of that little doll—­you know her—­little Katharina.  She is his betrothed; and yet the shameless wretch dares to carry on his game with me; he has the face. . . .”

Again Paula sobbed aloud; but the older woman did not know how to help in the matter and could only mutter to herself:  “Bad, bad—­what, this too!—­Merciful Heaven! . . .”  But she presently recovered herself and said firmly:  “This is indeed a new and terrible misfortune; but we have known worse—­much, much worse!  So hold up your head, and whatever liking you may have in your heart for the traitor, tear it out and trample on it.  Your pride will help you; and if you have only just found out what my lord Orion is, you may thank God that things had gone no further between you!” Then she repeated to Paula all that she knew of Orion’s misconduct to the frenzied Mandane, and as Paula gave strong utterance to her indignation, she went on: 

“Yes, child, he is a man to break hearts and ruin happiness, and perhaps it was my duty to warn you against him; but as he is not a bad man in other things—­he saved the brother of Hathor the designer—­you know her—­from drowning, at the risk of his own life—­and as I hoped you might be on friendly terms with him at least, on his return home, I refrained. . . .  And besides, old fool that I am, I fancied your proud heart wore a breastplate of mail, and after all it is only a foolish girl’s heart like any other, and now in its twenty-first year has given its love to a man for the first time.”

But Paula interrupted her:  “I love the traitor no more!  No, I hate him, hate him beyond words!  And the rest of them!  I loathe them all!”

“Alas! that it should be so!” sighed the nurse.  “Your lot is no doubt a hard one.  He—­Orion—­of course is out of the question; but I often ask myself whether you might not mend matters with the others.  If you had not made it too hard for them, child, they must have loved you; they could not have helped it; but ever since you have been in the house you have only felt miserable and wished that they would let you go your own way, and they—­well they have done so; and now you find it ill to bear the lot you chose for yourself.  It is so indeed, child, you need not contradict me.  This once we will put the matter plainly:  Who can hope to win love that gives none, but turns away morosely from his fellow-creatures?  If each of us could make his neighbors after his own pattern—­then indeed!  But life requires us to take them just as we find them, and you, sweetheart, have never let this sink into your mind!”