Through the whole of that day the patient seemed occupied with deep, but most pleasing thoughts. Fabiola, who never left her, except for moments to give necessary directions, watched her countenance with a mixture of awe and delight. It appeared as if her servant’s mind were removed from surrounding objects, and conversing in a totally different sphere. Now a smile passed like a sunbeam across her features, now a tear trembled in her eye, or flowed down her cheeks; sometimes her pupils were raised and kept fixed on heaven for a considerable time, while a blissful look of perfect and calm enjoyment sat unvarying upon her; and then she would turn round with an expression of infinite tenderness towards her mistress, and hold out her hand to be clasped in hers. And Fabiola could sit thus for hours in silence, which was as yet prescribed; feeling it an honor, and thinking it did her good, to be in contact with such a rare type of virtue. At length, in the course of the day, after giving her patient some nourishment, she said to her, smiling: “I think you are much better, Miriam, already. Your physician must have given you some wonderful medicine.” “Indeed he has, my dearest mistress.” Fabiola was evidently pained; and leaning over her, said softly: “Oh, do not, I entreat you, call me by such a title. If it has to be used, it should be by me towards you. But, in fact, it is no longer true; for what I long intended has now been done; and the instrument of your liberation has been ordered to be made out, not as a freedwoman, but as an _ingenua_;[217] for such I know you are.” Miriam looked her thanks, for fear of further hurting Fabiola’s feelings; and they continued to be happy together in silence. Towards evening Dionysius returned, and found so great an improvement, that, ordering more nourishing food, he permitted a little quiet conversation. “I must now,” said Fabiola, so soon as they were alone, “fulfill the first duty, which my heart has been burning to discharge, that of thanking you,--I wish I knew a stronger word,--not for the life which you have saved me, but for the magnanimous sacrifice which you made for it--and, let me add, the unequalled example of heroic virtue, which alone inspired it.” “After all, what have I done, but simple duty? You had a right to my life, for a much less cause than to save yours,” answered Miriam. “No doubt,” responded Fabiola, “it appears so to you, who have been trained to the doctrine which overpowered me, that the most heroic acts ought to be considered by men as performances of ordinary duties.” “And thereby,” rejoined Miriam, “they cease to be what you have called them.”