"'Love is joy,' says the Christian woman who superintends us at work in the papyrus factory, and since my mother died I have had no love. I enjoyed all my share of happiness once for all in my childhood, now I am content if only we are spared the worst misfortunes. Otherwise I take what each day brings, because I can not do otherwise. My heart is empty, and if I ever feel anything keenly, it is dread. I have long since ceased to expect any thing good of the future." "Girl!" exclaimed Pollux. "Why, what has been happening to you? I do not understand half of what you are saying. How came you in the papyrus factory?" "Do not betray me," begged Selene. "If my father were to hear of it." "He is asleep, and what you confide to me no one will ever hear of again." "Why should I conceal it? I go every day with Arsinoe for two hours to the manufactory, and we work there to earn a little money." "Behind your father's back?" "Yes, he would rather that we should starve than allow it. Every day I feel the same loathing for the deceit; but we could not get on without it, for Arsinoe thinks of nothing but herself, plays draughts with my father, curls his hair, plays with the children as if they were dolls, but it is my part to take care of them." "And you, you say, have no share of love. Happily no one believes you, and I least of all. Only lately my mother was telling me about you, and I thought you were a girl who might turn out just such a wife as a woman ought to be." "And now?" "Now, I know it for certain." "You may be mistaken." "No, no! your name is Selene, and you are as gentle as the kindly moonlight; names, even, have their significance." "And my blind brother who has never even seen the light is called Helios!" answered the girl. Pollux had spoken with much warmth, but Selene's last words startled him and checked the effervescence of his feelings. Finding he did not answer her bitter exclamation, she said, at first coolly, but with increasing warmth: