She drew herself away and sat thoughtful, her chin upon her hands.
"Now are you most beautiful," said he, "with that little touch of sorrow in your face. It gives me high thoughts to look at you."
While they were thus sitting a woman, well past middle age, came into their presence. She stopped near the feet of Arria. It was her grandmother, the Lady Claudia, once a beauty of the great capital, now gray and wrinkled, but still erect with patrician pride.
Vergilius had risen quickly, bowed low, and kissed her hand.
"I often saw you, son of my friend, when you were a child," said she.
"I remember when you were young you went away with the legions."
"To learn the art of war," he answered.
"Sit down, dear grandmother," said the girl, as he brought a chair.
"Now let her hear you tell me why it is that you have chosen me, dear
Vergilius—let her hear you."
"I know not. Perhaps because your beauty, sweet girl, is like the snare of the fowler and brought me to your hand. Then something in your eyes captured the heart of me—something better than beauty. It is the light of your soul. Love and peace and innocence and gentleness and all good are in it. That is why."
The two embraced each other. The Lady Claudia rose and came and put her hands upon them, and her voice trembled with emotion.
"They are beautiful," said she, "the kisses of the young, and their words are as the music of Apollo's lyre. I thank the gods I have seen it all again. But you are going away to-morrow. Son of Varro, be not as other men. Remember it is not well for women to live apart from the men they love."