“If thou dost not fear, thou must be glad to see me,” he said with an evil smile. “What dost thou wish here?” she asked. “Be not frightened. I am not a severe man. I have even refrained from torturing thee. I keep thee and thy parents in the camp, on account of laws that rule me. In my soldier nature, O light-footed dancer, there runs a vein of kindness. Thy brother was treated well in the camp. I even promoted him. But in despair at being caught in a dishonest act, he threw himself from the roof of the barracks. Oh that he might have given me an opportunity to forgive him!” “What dishonest act did he perform?” “He read my private letters.” “Art thou sure, O Sejanus?” “Ay; thy parents have confessed that he did.” “Where are my parents?” “They still live in the barracks, prisoners, as thou art.” “And Gyges, O Sejanus, where is he?” “He escaped; but shortly he will also be a prisoner.” “I thank the gods that he is free. But why dost thou keep me here?” “Thou hast told me that thou didst not read the writing on thy brother’s tunic. I believe thou didst read it.” “I can say no more than I have not, O Sejanus. Is it just to imprison innocent people?” “Thou findest life a burden here? Thou wishest to be free?” “Ay, O Sejanus. Why am I kept here? Why are my parents prisoners? Why is Gyges to be arrested?” “I cannot tell thee, my graceful creature. Pray be calm. Sit thou down near me.” Psyche still remained in the corner of the cell. She was frightened at the familiar tone of her oppressor. She asked, “What dost thou wish here?” “I have come to relieve the monotony of thy solitude.” “Then leave me. I prefer to be alone,” she pleaded. “So thou art the dancing-girl who delightedst the people with thy impersonations?” he asked, disregarding Psyche’s trembling appeal. “I have seen thee dance. Truly thou hast mastered well that art.” “I am a dancing-girl. ’Tis an honest profession.” “Ay; all professions are sometimes honest.” “The life of a dancing-girl is sometimes misunderstood,” she replied. “Nay, O pretty one, not by me. The lives of dancing-girls are never monotonous. A lover is always at hand. Presents brighten their fleeting days. Loving words and tender glances cheer their lives. Art thou not lonely in this cell?” Psyche knew not what reply to make. His voice had become soft and enticing. She said: “When can I see my parents? Persecute me no longer, O Sejanus! I am innocent.” “Thou art not persecuted, O pretty maiden! Thy cell is bright; we have darker ones below the ground. Thy food is good; we sometimes only give bread and water. Thou art lonely and I have come to relieve thy solitude.” “Then leave me,” said Psyche, in a commanding tone. “Leave thee? Why, I too am often lonely. This day I feel the need of some one to share that loneliness with me. Come, sit thou down.” “Leave me, I pray thee!” “Thou art a dancing-girl and hungerest after love.” “Leave me, I say, I understand thee not,” she cried.