Demetrios felt that she was going to ask for the impossible. He looked at her anxiously. But she began to smile, and said in slow tones: “I want a silver mirror to gaze at my eyes within my eyes.” “You shall have it. What else do you want? Quickly.” “I want a carved ivory comb to plunge into my hair like a net into water that sparkles in the sun.” “And then?” “You will give me my comb?” “Yes, yes. Go on.” “I want a pearl necklace to hang on my breast, when I dance you the nuptial dances of my country in my chamber.” He raised his eyebrows; “Is that all?” “You will give me my necklace?” “Any you please.” Her voice became very tender. “Any I please? Ah! that is exactly what I wanted to ask you. Will you let me choose my presents?” “Of course.” “You swear?” “I swear.” “What oath will you swear?” “Dictate it to me.” “By the Aphrodite you carved.” “I swear by the Aphrodite. But why these precautions?” “Ah! . . . I was uneasy; but now I am reassured”. She raised her head. “I have chosen my presents.” Demetrios suddenly became anxious and asked: “Already?” “Yes. Do you think I shall accept any sort of silver mirror, bought of a merchant of Smyrna, or some stray courtesan. I want the mirror of my friend Bacchis, who stole a lover from me last week and jeered at me spitefully in a little orgie she had with Tryphera, Mousarion, and some young fools who repeated everything to me. It is a mirror she prizes greatly because it belonged to Ithodopis, who was fellow-slave with æsop and was redeemed by Sappho’s brother. You know that she is a very celebrated courtesan. Her mirror is magnificent. It is said that Sappho used it, and it is for this reason that Bacchis lays store on it. She has nothing more precious in the world; but I know where you will find it. She told me one night, when she was intoxicated. It is under the third stone of the altar. She puts it there every evening when she leaves her house at sunset. Go to-morrow to her house at that hour and fear nothing: she takes her slaves with her.” “This is pure madness,” cried Demetrios. “Do you expect me to steal?” “Do you not love me? I thought that you loved me. And then, have you not sworn? I thought you had sworn. If I am mistaken, let us say no more about it.” He understood that she was ruining him, but he yielded without a struggle, almost willingly. “I will do what you say,” he answered. “Oh! I know well that you will. But you hesitate at first. I understand that. It is not an ordinary present. I would not ask it of a philosopher. I ask you for it. I know well that you will give it me.” She toyed a moment with the peacock feathers of her round fan, and suddenly: