'At least, I have learnt that you would rather stay here than go back to Rustan Karaboghazji and that gentle wife of his--his red-haired dove!' 'Anything rather than that!' Her tone was earnest, for it was the fate she feared most, both for herself and because she fancied that the dealer would in some way claim his money from Kyría Agatha. Zeno was apparently satisfied with her answer, for he looked more kindly at her and was silent for a time. Again he allowed his eyes to be delighted with her beauty. 'I will not send you back,' he said at last; and he held out his hand towards her, as if he were giving a promise to an equal. She was grateful, but she thought that perhaps he was trying to make her betray her birth. No slave would take the master's hand familiarly in her own; she knew the ways of slaves, for there had been many in her adopted father's house, and she touched the tips of Zeno's fingers with her own and pressed her lips to the back of her own hand when she withdrew it. The action disconcerted him a little, for it was performed perfectly, with all the deference of born servitude. 'You were not long in Rustan's house, were you?' he asked, not seeming to be much interested in the answer, for he hoped to take her unawares. If she told the truth, which he knew, he would show surprise and press her with another question; if she answered with an untruth he should gain that much knowledge of her character for future use. Quick-witted, she did neither. 'It pleased my lord to remind me a while ago that a slave's oath is never to be believed,' she said. 'It is the law that a slave must be tortured when giving evidence, is it not?' 'I believe it is,' answered Zeno, with a smile. 'But you are quite safe! I only ask you how long you were in Rustan's house.' 'One night and part of a day,' Zoë answered after a moment. Zeno pretended surprise. 'So short a time! Then he only bought you yesterday?' 'Yesterday evening.' 'And of whom? Will you tell me that?' Zoë reflected a moment and then smiled. 'Yes. I will tell you that. He bought me of a lady of Constantinople, in whose closest intimacy I was brought up. She is just of my own age and we are much alike.' 'I see,' said Zeno, completely deceived, and speaking almost to himself. 'Poor girl! The same father, I suppose--hence the----' Zoë drooped her eyes and looked at the carpet. 'Yes--since you have guessed it, sir. We had the same father, though we never knew him. He died of the plague when we were a few months old.'