“And, Malluch, he knows and takes with him now the secret I would give my life for: he could tell if she lives, and where she is, and her condition; if she—no, THEY—much sorrow has made the two as one—if they are dead, he could tell where they died, and of what, and where their bones await my finding.”
“And will he not?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I am a Jew, and he is a Roman.”
“But Romans have tongues, and Jews, though ever so despised, have methods to beguile them.”
“For such as he? No; and, besides, the secret is one of state. All my father’s property was confiscated and divided.”
Malluch nodded his head slowly, much as to admit the argument; then he asked anew, “Did he not recognize you?”
“He could not. I was sent to death in life, and have been long since accounted of the dead.”
“I wonder you did not strike him,” said Malluch, yielding to a touch of passion.