"First I would tell him where the pretty mistress is hidden; and then say
that he might hope once--this evening perhaps--he is not far off, he is
quite near this. . . over there; do you see that little white house?
It is a tavern and the host is a freedman attached to the lady Damia, and
for money he would shut his shop up for a day, for a night, for many
days.--Well, and then I would say--shall I tell you all? My lord Marcus
is there, waiting for his pretty mistress, and has brought her dresses
that would make the rose-garment look a rag. You would have gold too, as
much gold as heart can wish. I can take you there, and he will meet you
with open arms."

"What, this evening?" cried Dada, and the blue veins swelled on her
white forehead. "You hateful, brown serpent! Did Gorgo teach you such
things as this? It is horrible, disgraceful, sickening!"

So base a proposal was the last thing she would ever have expected from
Marcus--of all men in the world, Marcus, whom she had imagined so good
and pure! She could not believe it; and as her glance met the cunning
glitter of the Egyptian's eyes her own sparkled keenly, and she exclaimed
with a vehemence and decision which her attendant had never suspected in
her:

"It is deceit and falsehood from beginning to end! Go, woman, I will
hear no more of it. Why should Marcus have come to you since yesterday
if he does not know where I am? You are silent--you will not say?....
Oh! I understand it all. He--I know he would never have ventured it.
But it is your 'noble lady Damia'--that old woman, who has told you what
to say. You are her echo, and as for Marcus ... Confess, confess at
once, you witch . . ."