"There, close there! Oh, if only you would! . . .
"I am so fond of the fan, it is so pretty. Do you see, it is quite obliging? it is floating towards you!" Constantine had soon secured the fan, and shook it to dry it as he went across the plank to the vessel. Dada joyfully received it, stroked the feathers smooth, and warmly thanked its preserver, while he assured her that he only wished he could have rendered her some greater service. He was then about to retire with a bow no less distant than before, but he found himself unexpectedly detained by the Egyptian slave who, placing herself in his way, kissed the hem of his tunic and exclaimed:
"What joy for my lord your father and the lady your mother, and for poor
Sachepris! My lord Constantine at home again!"
"Yes, at home at last," said the soldier in a deep pleasant voice. "Your old mistress is still hale and hearty? That is well. I am on my way to the others."
"They know that you have come," replied the slave. "Glad, they are all glad. They asked if my lord Constantine forgot old friends."
"Never, not one!"
"How long now since my lord Constantine went away—two, three years, and just the same. Only a cut over the eyes—may the hand wither that gave the blow!"
Dada had already observed a broad scar which marked the soldier's brow as high up as she could see it for the helmet, and she broke in:
"How can you men like to slash and kill each other? Just think, if that cut had been only a finger's breadth lower—you would have lost your eyes, and oh! it is better to be dead than blind. When all the world is bright not to be able to see it; what must that be! The whole earth in darkness so that you see nothing—no one; neither the sky, nor the lake, nor the boat, nor even me."
"That would indeed be a pity," said the prefect with a laugh and a shrug.