"But it is true. And really--except for himself--no great misfortune. A short time ago, at night, I helped a young Moorish prisoner to escape. I could not foresee that he would use the horse in doing so. But afterwards I rejoiced over it, very, very deeply. Early this morning, a Moor, not the fugitive, brought the stallion into my courtyard. The lad I had saved was Sersaon, Cabaon's famous grandson. Cabaon, in his gratitude, sent me the magnificent horse." "But must not you return him to Modigisel?" "Perhaps so. On no account--never, never--would I have kept the animal. I would rather have the devil in my stable; I would rather ride the steed of hell!" "Why?" "Why? Why? You ask why?" cried Thrasaric, joyously. "Then you do not know?" "If I knew, I would not ask," said Hilda, calmly. But she was startled by the effect of these words; the gigantic man threw himself on his knees before her, pressing her hands till she could almost have screamed with pain, as he cried: "That is glorious, that is divine!" But the next instant he sprang up again, saying mournfully, "Alas! This is even worse. Now I must tell her myself. Forgive me. No, I am not mad. Just wait. It is coming.--So I ordered the horse to be led at once to Modigisel. The slave returned immediately with the message that Modigisel was dead." "Then it is true? The day before yesterday in perfect health! How is it possible?" "Astarte, of course. You know nothing about such creatures. His freedwoman and friend; she lived in the next house. It is very strange. The slaves say that after--after returning from the Grove of the Holy Virgin," he stammered the words with downcast eyes, "Modigisel and Astarte had a violent quarrel. That is, she did not make an outcry--she said very little; but she demanded for the thousandth time her complete freedom. Modigisel had reserved numerous rights. He refused, shouted, and raged; he is said to have beaten her. But yesterday they made friends again. Astarte and the Gundings dined with him. After the banquet they strolled about the garden. Before their eyes Astarte broke four peaches from a tree. She and the two Gundings ate three of them; Modigisel the fourth. And, after eating it, he dropped dead at Astarte's feet." "Horrible! Poison?" "Who dares to say so? The peach grew on the same tree with the others. The Gundings bear witness to it; they do not lie. And the Carthaginian is impenetrably calm, even now." "You have seen her, have talked with her?" The powerful warrior flushed crimson: "She came to my house at once, from the dead man. But I--well--she went away again very soon. She was hastening to take possession of the villa at Decimum, which Modigisel bequeathed to her long ago." "What a woman!"