'No, it cannot be the Nika you call wife; she has eyes of blue, deep as the sea, and her cheeks are tinged with the glory of the pomegranate. She stands erect; she walks like a queen.'
'Thou art right, Endora. 'Tis she! Thou art an artist; go further.'
'She has ruby lips, and her teeth are white and smooth as pearl; but within she is a cauldron of——'
'Stay, wretch!' cried Varro.
'I will not. A cauldron of lies! A sink of deception! A tiger whelp! A soul drowning in iniquity, destined to wander in darkness for ages on ages!'
'Stop—stop thy murderous tongue! It must be, as thou sayest, some other—not Nika!'
'No, no. Thou shalt not stay me; I will go on. It—is—thy—wife! She is beautiful without, but within I see her as I say.'
'Poor thing! thou art deceived. Thou art delirious; I pity thee, and will get physician's aid for thee. I go now. Here is some gold. Rest thyself. Thine is a case demanding pity.'
'I take not your gold; I want not your pity. I am sane. Would I had been born a drivelling idiot, and remained so to this present!'
'But surely, woman, thou canst not be other than mad to say such horrible things about Nika, my wife, my greatest treasure!'