‘Oh, really, sweet lady, I think they are both so handsome!’
‘Yet so unlike,’ said the lady.
‘Well, they are unlike,’ said Cypros, ‘and yet——’
‘And what?’
‘The fair one has a complexion almost as radiant as your own, sweet lady.’
‘And eyes as blue: no, they are too light. And so, as there is a likeness, you think he is the one?’
‘I am sure I wish they were both belonging to us,’ said Cypros.
‘Ah, me!’ said the lady, ‘’Tis not the bright-faced prince whom I hold to be one of us. No, no, my Cypros. Think awhile, sweet girl. The visage, the head of the other, have you not seen them before? Have you not seen something like them? That head so proudly placed upon the shoulders; that hair, that hyacinthine hair, that lofty forehead, that proud lip, that face so refined and yet so haughty, does it not recall anything? Think, Cypros; think!’
‘It does, sweet lady.’
‘Tell me; whisper it to me; it is a name not to be lightly mentioned.’