"You know you're very well pleased with yourself as you are."
"But I'm even better pleased with you, Pansy," he answered, watching her with glowing gaze.
This Pansy knew quite well. To get off the topic, she touched her horse lightly and broke into a canter. For it seemed to her "the symptoms" were coming to a head even more rapidly than she had expected.
When the edge of the orange grove was reached, a couple of white-robed men came forward to take their horses—dark men, with hawk-like faces, lean and sun-scorched, who bowed low before her escort with the utmost servility.
"They look like Arabs," Pansy said.
"They are Arabs; some of my servants from Africa. I generally have half a dozen with me."
It seemed to Pansy the whole half-dozen were in the grove, ready to wait on her.
No sooner was she settled among the cushions than one of the servants placed a little box before her, about six inches long and four wide: a costly trifle made of beaten gold, inlaid with flat emeralds and rubies.
"Is it Pandora's box?" she asked, picking it up and examining it with curiosity.
"It and the contents are for you," Le Breton replied.