"Eugenia! I did not throw dice for her. I don't want the horse. I made no promise."
He started in terror; for Eugenia was standing before him with the Ionian; her large dark-brown eyes, whose whites had a bluish cast, were gazing searchingly, anxiously, distrustfully, into the very depths of his soul. But she said nothing; only her face was paler than usual. How much had she heard--understood? he asked himself.
Thrasabad's slave humbly made way for her.
"I thank you. Aphrodite."
"Oh, do not call me by that name of mockery and disgrace! Call me as my dear parents did at home before I was stolen,--became booty, a chattel."
"I thank you, Glauke."
"The races cannot take place," lamented Thrasabad, to whom a freedman had just brought a message.
"Why not?"
"Because no one will bet against the stallion which Modigisel entered last of all. It is Styx; you know him."
"Yes, I know him! I made no promise, did I, Modigisel?" he asked in a low, hurried tone.