“I can tell you that myself,” replied Hermon. “Allow me to accompany you. I must see and speak to her.”
“The Arachne of Tennis?” asked Thyone. Hermon’s mute nod of assent answered the question, but she exclaimed: “The unhappy woman, who called down the wrath of Nemesis upon you, and who has now herself fallen a prey to the avenging goddess. What do you want from her?”
Hermon bent down to his old friend and whispered, “To lighten her terrible fate, if it is in my power.”
“Go, then,” replied the matron, and turned to her son, saying, “Let Hermon tell you how deeply this woman has influenced his life, and, when her turn comes, think of your mother.”
“She is a woman,” replied Eumedes, “and the King’s mandate only commands me to punish men. Besides, I promised her indulgence if she would make a confession.”
“And she?” asked Hermon.
“Neither by threats nor promises,” answered the admiral, “can this sinister, beautiful creature be induced to speak.”
“Certainly not,” said the artist, and a smile of satisfaction flitted over his face.