As Zeno showed himself more willing to talk, Zoë seemed to grow more indifferent. She laid the book down beside her, leaned back, and looked out of the window, turning her face half away from him. It was the first time he had seen her by daylight since she had come, and the strong afternoon light glowed in her white skin, her eyes, and her brown hair. He could have seen on her cheek the very smallest imperfection, had it been as tiny as the point of a pin, but there was none. He looked at her tender mouth; and in the strong glare he could have detected the least roughness on her lips, if they had not been as smooth as fresh fruit. Moreover, the line from her ear to her neck was really as perfect as it had seemed at first sight. Her nervous, high-bred young hand lay on the folds of her over-garment, within his reach, and he felt much inclined to take it and hold it. He did not remember that any woman's near presence had disturbed him in the same way, nor had he ever hesitated on the few occasions in his life when he had been inclined to take a woman's hand. He had the fullest rights which the laws of the Empire could give him, for Arethusa, as he called her, was his property out-and-out, and if he died suddenly she would be sold at auction with the furniture. Yet, for some wholly inexplicable reason he did not quite dare to touch the tips of her fingers. 'I have heard that you are a hero,' Zoë observed, without looking at him. 'Is it true?' Then she turned her eyes to him and smiled a little maliciously, he fancied, as if she had guessed his timidity from his silence. 'Who told you such nonsense?' Zeno asked, with a laugh, for her question had broken the ice--or perhaps had quenched the fire for a while. 'I am a man like any other!' 'That I doubt, sir,' answered Zoë, laughing too, though not much. 'You have no experience of men,' he said. 'They are all like me, I assure you. One sheep is not more like another in a flock.' 'I should not have taken you for one of the common herd. Besides, I know of your deeds in Italy and Greece, and how you fought a Turkish army for a whole year with a handful of men----' 'I have seen some fighting, of course,' Zeno replied. 'But that is all in the past. I am a sober, peace-loving Venetian merchant now, and nothing else.' 'It must be very dull to be a sober, peace-loving Venetian merchant,' said Zoë, faintly mimicking his tone. 'Making money is too hard work to be dull.' 'I suppose so. And then,' she added, with magnificent calm, 'I have always heard that avarice is the passion of old age.' Zeno fell into the trap. 'Dear me!' he cried in astonishment. 'How old do you think I am?' Zoë looked at him quietly. 'I have no experience of men,' she said, with perfect gravity, 'but from your manner, sir, I should judge you to be--about fifty.' Zeno's jaw dropped, for she spoke so naturally and quietly that he could not believe she was laughing at him. 'I shall be twenty-nine in August,' he answered.