"Is that dancing-girl your slave?"
"Yes. What does your excellency desire?"
Mirmes, evidently astonished, was staring now at Agamemnon and now at the gold.
"What's your name, girl?"
"Phyllis."
He bestowed money on her also, without stopping to reckon it.
The Greek murmured some words in the ear of the smiling Phyllis, who tossed up the pieces and threw sparkling glances at Agamemnon. He said—
"Come with me!"
Phyllis threw over her shoulders a dark cloak and glided with him into the street, asking submissively—
"Whither?"