Sergius strolled off, humming a
Gallic wine song. AEnone also rose; and, struggling to stifle her
emotion, confronted the new comer.

She, upon her part, stood silent and impassive, appearing to have heard
or seen nothing of what had transpired, and to have no thought in her
mind except the desire of fulfilling the duty which had brought her
thither. But AEnone knew that the most unobservant person, upon entering,
could not have failed at a glance to comprehend the whole import of the
scene--and that therefore any such studied pretence of ignorance was
superfluous. The attitude of the parties, the ill-disguised confusion of
Sergius, her own tears, which could not be at once entirely
repressed--all combined to tell a tale of recrimination, pleading, and
baffled confidence, as plainly as words could have spoken it. Apart,
therefore, from her disappointment at being interrupted at the very
moment when her hopes had whispered that the happiness of reconciliation
might be at hand, AEnone could not but feel indignant that Leta should
thus calmly stand before her with that pretence of innocent
unconsciousness.

'Why do you come hither? Who has demanded your presence?' AEnone cried,
now, in her indignation, caring but little what or how she spoke, or
what further revelations her actions might occasion, as long as so much
had already been exposed.

'My lady,' rejoined the Greek, raising her eyes with a well-executed air
of surprise, 'do I intrude? I came but to say that in the antechamber
there is--'

'Listen!' exclaimed AEnone, interrupting her, and taking her by the hand.
'Not an hour ago you told me about your quiet home in Samos--its green
vines--the blue mountains which encircled it--the little chamber where
your mother died, and in which you were born--and the lover whom you
left weeping at your cruel absence. You spoke of your affection for
every leaf and blade of grass about the place--and how you would give
your life itself to go back thither--yes, even your life, for you would
be content to lie down and die, if you could first return. Do you
remember?'

'Well, my lady?'

'Well, you shall return, as you desired. You have been given to me for
my own; and whether or not the gift be a full and free one, I will claim
my rights under it and set you free. In the first ship which sails from
Ostia for any port of Greece, in that ship you may depart. Are you
content, Leta?'

Still holding her by the hand, AEnone gazed