eat.

I know all you will say--of course against it. For you would speak in
favor only if you had seen her. Yet I rejoice that you are not here: I
have no desire to be warned.

True, it is one thing to toy with the sweet illusion within my own
breast and to the friend who will keep my secret; and quite another to
transfer it to practical reality.

My thoughts are contradictory. I am fifty--ah no; fifty-two years old!
But what happiness it will be for the young girl to share not only my
wealth but the whole Latin civilization with me! She is a pagan. Pshaw!
The baptismal water will no more wash away her charm than it has driven
the pagan Muses from me. She can believe after baptism precisely what
she believed before. And she shall offer sacrifices to golden Aphrodite
and to Hymen!

I hesitate. She is very fond of me, but I often find her dreaming,
gazing out with yearning eyes beyond the walls of the camp: strangely
enough, it is not eastward in the direction of her home, but always
toward the northwest. At that point the wall rises almost to the height
of her huge pine tree, whose branches reach the ground: I again found
her hidden among them yesterday. She climbs so far up among the boughs
that she can look over the wall to the distant hills, and hides among
the dense foliage like a martin.

I discovered her with much difficulty,--twilight was gathering,--and
when at my call she slipped down I thought I saw tears in her eyes. But
the crimson glow of sunset had probably dazzled me; I did not see them
when she stood on the ground by my side, though she looked graver than
usual.

"What do you want?" I asked.

"Liberty," was her swift answer.

Perhaps I looked perplexed or angry, for she went on hastily: "Forgive
me! I was foolish. I know that if you set me free now, before the close
of the war, I might fall into the hands of other Romans before reaching
my people. And I am not ungrateful. How kind you are to me! Yet I often
feel so homesick--for--for--oh, I don't know myself!"

Then I said in jest,--for never before, and even now not seriously, had
the idea entered my mind,--"For a lover?"

She started back like a little red serpent. I have never seen her so
angry, though the hot temper of the little creature boils over often
enough. She stamped her tiny foot, the blood crimsoned her cheeks, and
she vehemently exclaimed:

"A lover? The 'red biting cat'? I have no heart! How should _I_ love?"

Then turning