“Would it not be thought a woman should know her business! For what is beauty but to hold a man prisoner to the senses? And you are beautiful as the woman the high Gods made with flowers—how then do you fail? Does he not love you?” “Sir, he loves me. But not me only. He loves something that I know not, and his thought flies away to it as a dove flies home.” And he said: “True, true! It is true. What is this thing? For I, too, have felt it. When I have spoken of wealth and power and pride, I have known that as you, daughter, say, his soul is escaped and gone, I cannot tell where. But have no fear. Tell me only this—has never a word, never a sight of sorrow crept into the paradises I have made for him?” And she answered: “Not one. All is joy unceasing.” “And no sign of age, of sickness, of death? For, as I have told you, he must not know that these things are, and until he passed into your keeping, the secret was well guarded.” And she replied gravely: “The secret is well guarded. He does not know. When he speaks, it is of an eternity of delight and of nothing else. And yet—if I may speak and live——” And he said: “Speak. Even in the words of women there is sometimes wisdom, and you are a pearl among women.” “Great lord, is it possible to strive against the high Gods? For they have appointed death and sickness and grief to be our lot, and it may be that the very joy of life is the greater because we know it is brief. Children suck sugar-cane until they sicken, and may not grown man and woman weary of sweet things, desiring to match their fortitude against grief? And he is great of soul.” Then he would not look at her for anger, saying: “Folly and double folly—woman’s madness! Have you not heard the saying of the wise, that if ever he hears tell of age and sickness and death, his doom is sealed? And mine with it—and mine with it! For I love my son.” Then the great tears overflowed her eyes and ran down like a stream at the thaw. “Forgiveness!” she cried. “Forgiveness! for I love my husband, and if this unknown sweetness capture and carry him from me, what good should my life do me? But now, most honoured father of my lord, I have a hope—a hope! Will a child’s hand hold him?” And even as the words left her lips, he caught her two hands and gazed deep into her eyes and triumphed. And he said: “Daughter, you are hope, and your words a cup in the desert! For, knowing what my son is to me, I know that those hands will hold him when yours and mine drop helpless. Go back to him and tell him, and to the great Gods do I give thanks because my prayers and sacrifices have not run to waste but are rewarded!” And as she knelt before him, the tears rolled down his cheeks for gladness, nor could he hide them, as a warrior should.