"Fire," replied Thrasaric, averting his eyes from her ardent gaze,--"fire belongs to hell."
Astarte made no answer.
"Eugenia is so beautiful because she is so chaste and pure," sighed Glauke, who had heard a part of the conversation. Gazing sorrowfully after the bride, she lowered her long lashes.
"No wonder that you hold her so firmly," Modigisel now said aloud in a jeering tone. "After your attempt to abduct her failed, you besought the old grain-usurer to give you the dainty doll as honorably as any Roman fuller or baker ever wooed the daughter of his neighbor, the cobbler."
"Yes," assented Gundomar; "but he has celebrated the wedding with as much splendor as though he were wedding the daughter of an emperor."
"The splendor of the wedding is more to him than the bride," cried Gundobad, laughing.
"Certainly not," said Thrasaric, slowly. "But one thing is true: since I have known that she is--that she will be mine--the frantic longing for her--yet no--that is not true either, I love her fondly. I suppose it is the wine! The heat! And so much wine!"
"Nothing but wine can help wine," laughed Modigisel. "Here, slaves, bring Bacchus a second Oceanus."
Thrasaric instantly took a deep draught from the goblet.
"Well?" whispered Modigisel. "I will give you for make-weight to Astarte my whole fishpond full of muraense, besides the royal villa at Grasse, for--"