“My dear father!” exclaimed Myrtale, deeply moved, kissing her fingers as if she had seen the dead man alive before her.
“But that doesn’t settle everything,” said Polycles gravely. “In Athens Lycon is a spurious citizen and subject to the penalty of the law. He would be made a slave there.”
Myrtale started.
“Do what you can for him,” she said hurriedly, clasping Polycles’ hand in both her own.
“That is no easy matter,” replied Polycles, who found a secret satisfaction in being entreated to do what he himself intended. “It’s no easy matter, I tell you.”
“You can free him, if you wish. Remember what he has done for the city. Besides, did he not save my father’s life and mine?”
“I’ll think of it,” said Polycles.
“No, no, you must promise me!” exclaimed Myrtale. “Save him from the punishment of the law, and I will be a daughter to you!” And raising herself on tiptoe, she flung her arms around Polycles’ neck and kissed him on the cheek.
Polycles felt the soft pressure of Myrtale’s youthful figure and, when he had taken leave of her at the door of the women’s apartment in his house, he stood still, absorbed in thought.
“By Aphrodite!” he cried, “the girl is bewitching, and I am not so old....”