her heart.

In the papyrus factory, at the gumming-table, the sight of the little
hunchback had disgusted Selene, but here she observed what good eyes she
had, and how kind a voice, and the care with which Mary lifted the
compress from her foot--as softly, as if in her own hands she felt the
pain that Selene was suffering--and then laid another on the broken
ankle, aroused her gratitude. Her sister Arsinoe was a vain and thorough
Alexandrian girl, and she had nicknamed the poor thing after the ugliest
of the Hellenes who had besieged Troy. "Dame Thersites," and Selene
herself had often repeated it. Now she forgot the insulting name
altogether, and met the objections of her nurse by saying:

"The fever cannot be much now; if you tell me something I shall not think
so constantly of this atrocious pain. I am longing to be at home. Did
you see the children?"

"No, Selene. I went no farther than the entrance of your dwelling, and
the kind gate-keeper's wife told me at once that I should find neither
your father nor your sister, and that your slave-woman was gone out to
buy cakes for the children."

"To buy them!" exclaimed Selene in astonishment. "The old woman told me
too that the way to your apartments led through several rooms in which
slaves were at work, and that her son, who happened to be with her,
should accompany me, and so he did, but the door was locked, and he told
me I might entrust his mother with my commission. I did so, for she
looked as if she were both judicious and kind."

"That she is."