Lycabetta nodded her head.

"He is the all-conquering lover, for he never yields an inch of his
heart. If a goddess condescended from Olympus, he would woo her with hot
blood and cold brain. His eyes are torches of desire, but there never is
a tender light in them. If a woman died in his arms, he would leave her
without a sigh. And yet he can speak the speech of love more eloquently
than an angel. You will laugh when I tell you that I would give much to
believe that he loved me."

"He is the King," Glycerium said, simply.

"If he were a shepherd on a hill-side, I should think the same thoughts.
But he is alike with all women. I do not believe the woman is born of
woman who could make gentle his cruelty. He is as pitiless as the
plague, that never spares the fairest."

Glycerium shivered.

"Do not speak of the plague, dear lady. They say some have died of it in
Syracuse."

"Or call it by some pretty name to placate it," Euphrosyne suggested.
"Say that the blessing is abroad."

Glycerium shivered again.

"Oh, how I wish we had never left Naples!"

Lycabetta's face had grown pale and she gasped her words.

"Gods, how I fear it! But it will not creep in here. We stand high from
the city. Our garden is wardered with medicinal herbs, and these odors
and essences defend us. So we need not fear it. And yet, gods, how I
fear it!"

Even as she spoke and shuddered the hangings of the portal parted, and
one of her women entered and saluted reverentially. Lycabetta turned a
little on the couch to look at her.

"What is it, Lysidice?" she asked.

"Zal and Rustum, the King's Moors, wait without," Lysidice answered.
"They come with a charge from the King."

"What charge?" Lycabetta asked, attracted by any interruption in the
monotony of her night.

"They say they have a woman with them," Lysidice answered.

Lycabetta struck herself upon the forehead with her open palm.

"A woman!" she cried, joyously. "Why, I had forgotten. Now I shall have
sport in my loneliness. This is the girl who is to be my plaything.
Admit them and tell them to leave the girl here alone. But bid them wait
within call. I may have need of them. Fly away, love-birds."

Lysidice went out as she had come, to bear Lycabetta's bidding to the
Moorish slaves. The others, fluttering like frightened doves before
Lycabetta's dismissal, disappeared into the farther apartments of the
palace. Lycabetta rose alertly, and, mounting the steps that rose be