'But it is slavery, child! Do you not understand that it is slavery? That he will take you and sell you in the market, as he would sell an Arab mare, to the highest bidder?'
She tenderly kissed the wrinkled face.
Zoë leaned sideways against the wall, and the faint light that shone upwards from the earthen lamp on the floor, fell upon her lovely upturned face, and on the outlines of her graceful body, ill-concealed by her thin rags.
'Is it true that I am still beautiful?' she asked after a pause.
'Yes,' answered the old woman, looking at her, 'it is true. You were not a pretty child, you were sallow, and your nose——'
Zoë interrupted her.
'Do you think that many girls as beautiful as I are offered in the slave market?'
'Not in my time,' answered the old woman. 'When I was in the market I never saw one that could compare with you.'