'What woman?' asked Sagaris in astonishment. And the answer was
whispered, 'Muscula.'
Now Muscula's name and position were well known to the Syrian. The
reproach of the mysterious fair one made him swell with pride; he
affected inability to deny the charge, and in the next breath
declared that Muscula was but his sport, that in truth he cared
nothing for her, he did but love her as he had loved women
numberless, not only in Rome, but in Alexandria, Antioch,
Constantinople. The muffled lady gave a deep sigh. Ah! and so it
would be with _her_, were she weak enough to yield to _her_ passion.
Sagaris began to protest, to vow.
'It is vain,' replied the amorous voice. 'Only in one way can you
convince me and win me.'
'Oh, how?'
'Let me hear that Muscula is dead.'
Sagaris stood mute. A hand touched his shoulder, his hair; perfumes
loaded the air about him.
'Tell me your name and it shall be done.'
The warm mouth breathed against his cheek and a name was murmured.
The second day after this saw an event in the Palatine which was
matter of talk for some two days more, and then passed into
oblivion.
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