"Perchance," she turned to Theodora, "remembering how Circé of old changed her lovers into swine, the sainted pilgrim no longer worships at Santa Maria of the Aventine."
Theodora started at the sound of her rival's hated voice as if an asp had stung her.
"Perchance the well-known blandishments of our fair Roxana might accomplish as much, if report speaks true," she replied, returning the smouldering challenge in the other woman's eyes.
"And why not?" came the purring response. "Am I not your match in body and soul?"
Every vestige of color had faded from Theodora's cheeks. For a moment the two women seemed to search each other's souls, their bosoms heaving, their eyes alight with the desire for the conflict.
Roxana slowly arose and strode toward the vacant seat at Theodora's left.
"When you circled the Rosary on yesternight, fairest Theodora," she purred, "was he not there—waiting for you?"
Instead of Theodora, it was Basil who made reply.
"Of whom do you speak?"
Again the silvery ripple of Roxana's laughter floated above the din.