Again the temptation seized her to tell him all, since he spoke so kindly; but still she thought of what might happen to Kyría Agatha. 'I am your bought slave,' she said, almost directly. 'I have nothing else to tell.' 'But you had a mother?' 'I never knew her.' 'Your father, then?' 'I never knew him.' Zeno was not always patient, even with women, and there was no reason why he should be forbearing with his own property. 'I do not believe you,' he said in a tone of annoyance, and he rose and began to pace the room. Now it chanced that Zoë had been able to answer his last two questions quite truthfully, for she had not the least recollection of her own father and mother, who had died of the plague when she was three months old. 'I will swear to you on all holy things that it is true,' she said, watching him. He made an impatient gesture. 'A slave cannot take an oath,' he answered roughly. Zoë lifted her beautiful head at once, and her eyes shone; but he did not see, for he had turned his back on her in his walk, and a moment later she resumed her former submissive attitude. Zeno stopped near the door and clapped his hands; the two maids appeared. 'Bring supper,' he said. As they went to obey he came back and sat down again beside the divan. There was just room to place a small table between him and Zoë. The girls came back and waited on them, but neither spoke. Zeno prepared a salad himself with ingredients brought ready for making it, and when it was dressed he helped Zoë to a little of it. She had watched him, for the Italian custom was new to her and she had never known how a salad was composed. Zeno poured Greek wine into her glass, a delicate white goblet from Murano, with faint blue lines round the stem. But she neither ate nor drank. 'Go,' said Zeno to the maids. 'I will call you.' The two slipped away noiselessly. Zeno had forgotten his displeasure, and he felt her presence again. 'You must eat and drink,' he said gently. 'If there is anything you like, tell me. You shall have it.' 'You are kind,' she answered, but she did not lift her hand. 'I have no appetite,' she added, after a little pause. I do not know why no man believes a woman when she says that she is not hungry. Zeno was annoyed, and by way of showing his displeasure he himself began to eat more than he wanted. Zoë looked on in silence while he finished another bird and all the salad he had made. She would not have been a woman if she had not seen that he felt a little shy, all at once, as the most fearless and energetic men may before a woman they do not understand. Then there was a change for the better in her own state; she breathed more freely, her heart beat more steadily, the weight that lay like lead on her chest, just below her throat, was lightened. When a woman sees that a man is shy with her, she is sure that sooner or later he will turn at her will; and though she is sometimes mistaken, the chances are that she is right.