d, and turned to
go out by the entrance through which she came.

"In the name of the devil you stay where you are," Lycabetta cried, and
clapped her hands.

Instantly the hangings that concealed the entrance parted, and the black
giants entered and stood silently awaiting Lycabetta's orders.

Perpetua moved to them with a gesture of authority.

"Let me pass," she commanded.

The Moors stood motionless. Lycabetta called to her captive:

"Those slaves are as strong and merciless as wild beasts. Whatever I
told them to do to you, they would do to you."

Perpetua moved back towards Lycabetta. Lycabetta gave a sign and the
blacks disappeared behind the curtains.

Perpetua advanced to Lycabetta and looked her squarely in the face.

"Why have I been brought here?" she demanded, sternly, though despair
was tugging at her heartstrings.

Lycabetta leaned back upon her couch and looked at her prisoner
curiously. The Neapolitan recognized that there was beauty of a kind
given to the girl--in her hair, red as the reddest sunset, in her candid
eyes, in the strong, supple body, overbrown from mountain light and
mountain air for Lycabetta's fancy. This was a raw taste of the King's,
she thought, contemptuously; the girl would only be passable in a while,
in a long while. What kind of passion was it that a king could feel for
a country wench, while her gardens were thronged with shapes of
loveliness, while she, Lycabetta, still lived? The passions of the great
are mad fancies, but surely this was the maddest fancy greatness ever
entertained. So she mused while Perpetua watched her. She was stirred
from her meditations when the girl repeated her question.

"Why have I been brought here?"

"You are too idle in the forest," Lycabetta answered, "and so you are
sent here to be apprenticed to my trade."

Perpetua moved a little nearer to her, questioning her with eyes and
speech.

"What is your trade?"

Lycabetta turned to the bronze image of Venus and held out her hands to
it.

"The oldest in the world. We were busy before Babylon was built or Troy
burned. We shall be busy till the world grows gray."

Perpetua repeated her question.

"Speak plainly. What is your trade?"

Lycabetta answered her frankly.

"The trade of love. We sell smiles and kisses and sweet hours, and men
buy them gladly, even at the price of their souls."

"I know you now," Perpetua said, crossing herself. "Though I dwell with
innocence upon the