“Subscribes to all you have said, and feels as hungry as a hunter.”
“Hark! there is Andros,” observed Helena, placing one white finger on her lips, in which attitude she looked like some exquisite statue of Silence; “do you hear him singing?”
“The rose is shedding its crimson leaves,
Sadly they fall at the caress of Zephyrus;
And I, O beloved, shed tears in plenty,
Feeling thy kiss on my mouth;
For I must lose thee—ah, I must lose thee!
Another richer than I desires to wed thee,
Therefore do I shed tears, as the rose sheds her crimson petals.”
“An omen!” breathed Justinian under his breath, as the Greek drew aside the curtain of the main entrance; “he will not marry Helena!”