"Yes, lord," she said, "the galley sailed away, and after a time the Huns—my Huns—went away too towards the city. When I came out of the ravine at last there was only one man left there—the vine-grower's lad, who had crept from the wood to see the fighting. I called to him, and between us we raised you and brought you here. You fell asleep without waking from your swoon."
"They got away!" said young Zuan, staring with wide, bright eyes across the strait to where the Velebic cliffs rose gray and fierce. "They got away! They'll meet Il Lupo and the other galleys! They—" A little restless movement from the woman made him turn his head quickly, and the light faded from his eyes.
"That—doesn't matter," he said, in a different tone. "Nothing matters—now." He watched her for a long time under his brows, bitterly at first, but she was such as no man could look coldly upon, and she had saved his life and gone from triumph into hiding with him. As he looked at her, Il Lupo and the galleys dimmed from his mind.
"What," said he at last, very gently, "is to become of you and me?"
"I do not know, lord," she said. "Oh, lord, a woman, when she loves, does not think of such things or care for them. She does not look ahead. A woman, lord, when she loves, has space in her mind and soul for nothing but love. You—do not know women."
"No," said young Zuan, shaking his head, "I do not know them. That is true. They—have never come into my way."
"I am glad," she said.
"Princess," said he, after a little silence, "it is true, what men say of you?"
"Does it matter?" she asked again. "No, lord, it is not true—at least much of it is not. But you have said it did not matter—you have said so!"