'I see. You do not want your men friends to know that there are women living in your house, do you? They are doubtless all grave and elderly persons, who would be much shocked and grieved to learn that you have bought a pretty Greek slave. After all, you came near being a priest, did you not? They naturally associate you in their minds with the clergy, and for some reason or other you think it just as well for you, or your affairs, that they should! I have always heard that the Venetians are good men of business!' 'You are probably the only person alive who would risk saying that to me,' said Zeno, looking at her. 'What do I risk, my lord?' asked Zoë, with a sort of submissive gravity. 'My anger,' Zeno answered curtly. 'Yes sir, I understand. Your anger--but pray, my lord, how will it show itself? Shall I be beaten, or put in chains and starved, or turned out of your house and sold at auction? Those are the usual punishments for disobedient slaves, are they not?' 'I am not a Greek,' said Zeno, annoyed. 'If you were,' answered Zoë, turning her face from him to hide her smile, 'you would probably wish to tear out my tongue!' 'Perhaps.' 'It might be a wise precaution!' she laughed. Zeno looked at her sharply now, for the words sounded like a threat that was only half-playful. She knew enough to compass his destruction at the hands of Andronicus if she betrayed him, but he did not believe she would do that, and he wondered what she was driving at, for his experience of women's ways was small. 'Listen,' he said, dropping his voice a little. 'I shall not beat you, I shall not starve you, and I shall not sell you. But if you try to betray me, I will kill you.' She raised her head proudly and met his eyes without fear. 'I would spare you the trouble--if I ever betrayed you or any one.' 'It is one thing to talk of death, it is another to die!' Zeno laughed rather incredulously, as he quoted the old Italian proverb. 'I have seen death,' Zoë answered, in a different tone. 'I know what it is.' He wondered what she meant, but he knew it was useless to question her, and for a few moments there was silence. The lamps burned steadily in the quiet air, for the evenings were still and cool, and the windows were shut and curtained; through the curtains and the shutters the song of a passing waterman was heard in the stillness, a long-drawn, plaintive melody in the Lydian Mode, familiar to Zoë's ears since she had been a child. But Zeno saw how intensely she listened to the words. She clasped her hands tightly over her knee, and bent forwards to catch each note and syllable. The waters are blue as the eyes of the Emperor's daughter, In the crystal pools of her eyes there are salt tears. The water is both salt and fresh. Over the water to my love, this night, over the water--