If the Venetian still doubted that by some mysterious chance of fate the girl he had come to buy at the slave-dealer's was as well born as himself, her movement as she sat down dispelled his lingering uncertainty. He had entered the room carelessly, still wearing his cap. As Zoë resumed her seat, he took it from his head, bowing instinctively, as he would have done on meeting a woman of his own class. A faint colour rose in the girl's cheeks, as she looked at him again. Rustan's wife laughed silently, standing a little behind him. Zoë spoke first. 'Pray, sir,' she said, 'be covered.' 'His High Mightiness uncovers his head for coolness,' said the negress. Zeno gave her a sharp glance and then turned to Zoë. 'It is not possible that you are a slave,' he said, coming a little nearer and looking down into her face. But she would not meet his eyes. 'It is the truth, sir,' she said. 'I am a slave and any one may buy me and take me away.' 'Then you have been carried off by force,' Zeno answered with conviction, 'in war, perhaps, or in some raid of enemies on enemies. Tell me who you are and how it happened, and by the body of blessed Saint Mark, I will give you back free to your own people!' Zoë looked at him in silent surprise. The negress answered him at once, for she did not like the turn affairs were taking, and though she had never heard of Carlo Zeno, she judged from his looks that he was able to make good his promise. 'Your Splendour does not really believe that my husband would risk the punishment of a robber for carrying off a free woman!' she cried. 'I am a slave,' Zoë said quietly. 'Only a slave and nothing else. There is no more than that to tell.' She drew one hand across her brow and eyes as if to shut out something or to drive it away. Zeno came nearer and stood alone beside her. 'Tell me your story,' he said in a lower tone. 'Do not be afraid! no one shall hurt you.' 'There is no more to tell,' she repeated, shaking her head. 'But you are kind, and I thank you very much.' She raised her clear brown eyes gratefully to his for a moment. There was sadness in them, but he saw that she had not been weeping; and like a man, he argued that if she were very unhappy she would, of course, shed copious tears the live-long day, like the captive maidens in the tales of chivalry. He looked at the beautiful young hand, now lying on the arm of the chair, and for the first time in his life he felt embarrassed. The negress, who was not at all used to such methods in the buying and selling of humanity, now came forward and began to call attention to the fine quality of her goods. 'Very fine natural hair,' she observed. 'Your Gorgeousness will see at once that it has never been dyed.' She took one of Zoë's plaits in her hand, and the girl shrank a little at the touch. 'Let her alone!' Zeno said sharply. 'I am not blind.' 'It is her business to show me,' Zoë answered for her, in a tone of submission.