Basil was swaying to and fro in his seat with suppressed fury.
"One convent at least would be damned from gable to refectory," he muttered, emptying the tankard which one of the Africans had just replenished.
Theodora regarded him icily. Her inscrutable countenance gave no hint of her thoughts. She did not even seem to hear the questions which fell thick and fast about her, but there was something in the velvet depths of her eyes that would have caused even the boldest to tremble in the consciousness of having incurred her anger.
The Lord of Norba reeled towards the couch, where Roxana had taken her seat, blinking out of small watery eyes and flirting with his lordly buskins.
"How came it about?"
"What was he like?"
Theodora turned slowly from the one to the other. Then with a voice vibrant with contempt she said:
"A man!"
"And you were counting your beads?" shouted the Lord Atenulf in so amazed a tone, that the guests broke out into peals of laughter.
"It was then it happened," Roxana related, without relating.