"Nay, no woman,--a monster, but a beautiful one. So the horse remained in my possession. But I--will not keep the animal. Then I thought that of all the women of our nation you are the most glorious--I mean, the best rider. And I believe war will soon break out, and, from what I know of you, I believe that nothing will prevent you from going with Gibamund to the field." "There you are right," laughed Hilda, with sparkling eyes. "Then I begged Gibamund--and so the stallion is yours, do you see? He is just being led into the courtyard." "A magnificent creature indeed! I thank you." "So that is the story of the horse." He spoke very sorrowfully, for he did not know what to say next. Hilda came to his assistance. "And your brother?" she asked. "Unhappily he has disappeared. I have searched for him everywhere--in his own villas and mine. There was not a trace. The body of the beautiful Ionian who--died that night, could not be found either. There was no sign of it in the city or country. It is possible that he left Carthage by ship. So many have gone out of the harbor during these last few days, even--" he suddenly turned pale--"even bound for Sicily." "Yes," said Hilda, carelessly, glancing out of the window. "The horse is a splendid animal." "She is changing the subject," thought Thrasaric. "Then it is so." "Several sailed also for Syracuse," he went on, watching her intently. The Princess leaned from the casement. "Only one, so far as I know," she replied indifferently. "Then it is true," cried the Vandal, suddenly, in despair. "She has gone. She has gone to her father in Syracuse. She has deserted me forever! O Eugenia! Eugenia!" Pressing his arm against the window-frame in bitter anguish, he laid his face on it. So he did not see how violently the curtains at the door of the next room swayed to and fro. "O Princess," he cried, controlling himself, "it is only just. I ought not to blame you, I must praise you for having snatched her from my arms on that wild night. Nor can I condemn her for casting me off. No, do not try to comfort me. I know I am not worthy of her. It is my own fault. Yet not mine alone; the women--that is, the maidens of our nation--are also to blame. Do you look at me in wonder? Well, then, Hilda, have you taken a single Vandal girl to your heart as a friend? Eugenia, the Greek, the child of a plain citizen, is far more to you than the wives and daughters of our nobles. I will not say--far be it from me--that the Vandal women are as corrupt and degenerate as, alas, most of us men. Certainly not! But under this sky, in three generations, they, too, have deteriorated. Gold, finery, luxury, and again gold, fill their souls. They long for wealth, for boundless pleasure, almost like the Romans. Their souls have grown feeble. No one understands or shares Hilda's enthusiasm." "Yes, they are vain and shallow," said the Princess, sadly.