"They tell me he is dead; even I saw him lying at the foot of the walls; but it is not true; it was a bad dream. It was his father, Mopsus the archer, who died. Since then he runs away from me as if he wishes to weep alone for his father's death. He hides from me by day. I see him from afar, upon the walls, among the defenders, but when I climb up to search for him I find none but armed men, and Erotion disappears. He is only faithful to me at night. Then he seeks me, he comes to me. Scarcely do I conceal myself at the foot of the stairway and rest my head upon my knees than I see him coming, looking for me in the darkness, strong and loving, with his quiver at his side and his bow slung across his shoulders. When he comes the ferocious dogs which slink through the shadows, sniffing in my face and staring at me with their gloomy eyes, are frightened away. He comes to me, he sits beside me; he smiles, but he is ever silent. I speak to him and he answers me with a tender glance, but never with a word. I seek his shoulder, to lean my head upon it as in other days, and he flees, he disappears as if dissolved in shadow. What does it mean, good Greek? If you see him, ask him why he hides from me. Tell him not to run away!----He loves you so much, so much! How often has he talked to me of you and of your country!" She was silent a moment, as if these words had aroused within her a whole past of recollections. With a painful effort, which was reflected in her face, she caught at them and arranged them in her mind. Slowly surged through her memory again the image of those happy days before the siege when she and Erotion ran hand in hand through the valley and had for their house all the groves of the Saguntine domain. She smiled at Actæon, looking at him affectionately, and she recalled their several meetings; their first interview on the Road of the Serpent when he had just disembarked, poor and unknown. Then, the touch of paternal protection with which he greeted them when he found them in the fields climbing the cherry trees and quarreling playfully over the red fruit, and that surprise beneath the leafy fig trees, when she, in her virginal beauty, was acting as a model for the young sculptor. Did he remember? Had the Greek forgotten those days of peace and joy? Actæon did indeed cherish them in his memory. He still retained the impression caused by the vision of the lovely shepherdess, and at the same moment his eyes searched the tattered tunic, seeking with an artist's delight the warm tones of her amber skin. But Rhanto's mind, after evoking these recollections, began again to wander. Where was Erotion? Had Actæon seen him? Was he up there with the defenders? The Greek held her back catching her by the hand to prevent her climbing to the top of the wall.