e home?"

"Only quite lately," said another and more good-natured girl, to soothe
her.

"Do not believe her!" cried the negress. "And if you want to know the
latest news of him: Last night he was out boating on the Nile with the
tall Syrian. My brother, the boatman, was among the rowers; and he went
on finely with the lady I can tell you, finely...."

"My husband, the great Mukaukas?" asked Mandane, trying to collect her
ideas.

"No. Your son Orion, who married the emperor's daughter," laughed the
negress.

The crazy girl stood up, looked about with a restless glance, and
then, as though she had not fully understood what had been said to her,
repeated: "Orion? Handsome Orion?"

"Aye, your sweet son, Orion!" they all shouted, as loud as though she
were deaf. Then the usually placable girl, holding her hand over her
ear, with the other hit her tormentor such a smack on her thick lips
that it resounded, while she shrieked out loud, in shrill tones:

"My son, did you say? My son Orion?--As if you did not know! Why, he was
my lover; yes, he himself said he was, and that was why they came and
bound me and cut my ears.--But you know it. But I do not love him--I
could, I might wish, I...." She clenched her fists, and gnashed her
white teeth, and went on with panting breath:

"Where is he?--You will not tell me? Wait a bit--only wait. Oh, I am
sharp enough, I know you have him here.--Where is be? Orion, Orion,
where are you?"

She sprang away, ran through the sheds and lifted the lids of all the
color-vats, stooping low to look down into each as if she expected to
find him there, while the others roared with laughter.

Most of her companions giggled at this witless behavior; but some, who
felt it somewhat uncanny and whom the unhappy girl's bitter cry
had struck painfully, drew apart and had already organized some new
amusement, when a neat little woman appeared on the scene, clapping her
plump hands and exclaiming:

"Enough of laughter--now, to bed, you swarm of bees. The night is
over too soon in the morning, and the looms must be rattling again by
sunrise. One this way and one that, just like mice when the cat appears.
Will you make haste, you night-birds? Come, will you make haste?"

The girls had learnt to obey, and they hurried past the matron to their
sleeping-quarters. Perpetua, a woman scarcely past fifty, whose face
wore a pleasant expression of mingled shrewdness and kindness, stood
pricking up her ear