The old man turned as he spoke, and called out anxiously:
"Irene—Irene, where art thou, child?"
An attendant, moved like his master, explained.
"Your Majesty, his daughter is in the ante-room."
"Bring her here."
There was a painful hush in the chamber during the waiting. When the daughter appeared, all eyes were directed to her—all but the father's, and even he was instantly aware of her presence; for which, doubtless, the sensibility known only to the long-time blind was sufficiently alive.
"Where hast thou been?" he asked, with a show of petulance.
"Calm thee, father, I am here."
She took his hand to assure him, and then returned the look of the Emperor; only his was of open astonishment, while hers was self-possessed.
Two points were afterwards remembered against her by the courtiers present; first, contrary to the custom of Byzantine women, she wore no veil or other covering for the face; in the next place, she tendered no salutation to the Emperor. Far from prostrating herself, as immemorial etiquette required, she did not so much as kneel or bow her head. They, however, excused her, saying truly her days had been passed in the Monastery without opportunity to acquire courtly manners. In fact they did not at the time notice the omissions. She was so beautiful, and her beauty reposed so naturally in an air of grace, modesty, intelligence, and purity that they saw nothing else. Constantine recovered himself, and rising from his seat, advanced to the edge of the dais, which in such audiences, almost wholly without state, raised him slightly above his guests and attendants, and spoke to the father: