You have lost
your little Goth; of that I need no assurance. But tell me how it
came about.'
Basil stood with bent head. In the portico, at a little distance,
there began to sound the notes of a flute played by some itinerant
musician.
'You dare refuse me?' said Heliodora, after waiting a moment. 'You
are a bolder man than I thought.'
'Ask what you wish to know,' broke from the other. 'Recount to you I
will not. Put questions, and I will reply if I think fit.'
'Good.'
Heliodora smiled, with a movement which made all her trappings of
precious metal jingle as though triumphantly. And she began to
question, tracking out all Basil's relations with Veranilda from
their first meeting at Cumae to the day of the maiden's
disappearance. His answers, forced from him partly by vague fear,
partly by as vague a hope, were the briefest possible, but in every
case he told the truth.
'It is well,' said Heliodora, when the interrogation was over.
'Poor, poor Basilidion! How ill he has been used! And not even a
kiss from the little Goth. Or am I mistaken? Perhaps--'
'Be silent!' exclaimed Basil harshly.
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