“Not love you?” he repeated. “Why, you are everything to me—the moon and the stars, my food and drink, my dreams and my work. You are a part of everything that is good.”
He again drew her to his breast. Her thoughts fastened on Sobraji, her imagination transforming Marania’s body into that of the man she loved. She threw her arms about him wildly.
“Kiss me!” she murmured; “kiss me on the mouth!”
Incredulous, he hesitated a moment; then, with a smothered cry, he placed his lips on hers, and he stood in that deep silence lost in the sweet bitterness of unaccomplished love.
Cesiphos, the deaf and dumb servant of Marania, had no interest in life save to please his master. His happiness was greatest when Marania, with a smile and a sign, thanked him for some work he had done. On these occasions, Cesiphos would return to his quarters with a glad heart and singing eyes. His master was pleased with him: that was all that mattered.
But when Marania brought home his wife, Pabasca, Cesiphos felt cold and angry. No longer would he be first in his master’s eyes. The work in which he took so much delight would be done not for Marania alone, but for Marania’s wife also; moreover, Pabasca herself would superintend the working of the household, and he, Cesiphos, would be relegated to the position simply of a paid servant.
But matters did not turn out quite as Cesiphos had anticipated. It is true that he had to work for Pabasca as well as for his master, but he was mistaken in thinking she would superintend the household. Pabasca did nothing at all. She conducted herself like a Salonika lady. All day long she was idle and peevish, and whilst Marania was sweating in the fields she was either lying in bed or wandering aimlessly about the house.
One day when Cesiphos was working with the other men in the orchard, he looked down from the ladder on which he was standing and saw Pabasca staring at him in a most curious manner. He flushed hotly and went on with his work, and though he could feel that his master’s wife was still gazing upon him, he did not look down again. His figure stretched to its full extent was that of a giant, and his long arms, busy among the branches, were brown and muscular.
Like many people of bright intellect who are deprived of one or more senses, Cesiphos appeared to possess a sixth sense, and there was little that transpired in Marania’s household of which he was not conscious. He soon discovered that Pabasca had no love for her husband; so he watched her—always watched, suspicious, contemptuous, angry.
There came a day when Marania announced that he was going to Salonika for four days on business. When he signalled this news to Cesiphos and told him that he was leaving his wife in his servant’s charge, Cesiphos, proud and grave, inclined his head, and then turned his gaze swiftly upon Pabasca who, in return, gave him the curious look she had bestowed upon him in the orchard. It was a look of invitation, of lust. Cesiphos’ stern face did not betray that he had understood, or even noticed, the look she had given him.