"It is the truth," she replied. "I forced old Eunomus to tell me only last night. He has the proofs and he has promised to deliver them to me, for a certain sum, of course. I am the daughter of Theorus, who caused me to be exposed because I was a girl. The old pander found me, as he has found many another in his time, and—and—he made of me what you see me."
She threw herself once more upon the couch to ease her grief among the crimson cushions. Chares knew not what to say. He distrusted the story told by Eunomus, for he knew the wretch was capable of doing anything for money. But, after all, what if the tale were true? He was fond of Thais, of course. How could a man help being fond of a young and beautiful woman who loved him? There was Aspasia, who had ruled Athens and all Hellas through Pericles. There was the son of Phocion, who had actually married a girl no better than Thais. Still, what had been could not be changed; and even if Thais was the daughter of Theorus, that fact could make no difference.
Thais raised her head from the pillows as though she had read his thoughts. Her eyes were softened with tears.
"Is it my fault," she pleaded, "that my sister has the love of an honorable man and will be married to him, while I—I can never hope for such a marriage? I know it, Chares, and I do not ask it. All I ask is that you will permit me to go with you. I am tired, since I knew you, of my life here. Without meaning to do so, you have opened my eyes to new things. I am what I am; but, in spite of all, I am still a woman—more a woman perhaps, than Artemisia, my sister, whom I have never seen. Let me go with you, Chares, to share your dangers and your glory, to nurse you if you are wounded, and to stand beside your funeral pyre and watch my heart turn to ashes if you are killed. I cannot bear to be left behind. The weariness and the waiting would surely kill me. Let me go with thee, my Life, for I think neither of us will see Athens again."
Chares felt deep pity for the unfortunate girl stir in his heart. The strength of his emotion troubled his careless nature.
"There, there," he said, anxious to pacify her. "Don't make gloomy predictions. You shall come."
She nestled into his arms and laid her head upon his shoulder.
"I shall never know greater happiness," she said, with a sigh of content; and then, changing her tone, "They say the women of the Medes are very beautiful. You will not make me jealous, will you, Chares?"
He laughed and kissed her, looking into her eyes. "Small need have you to fear the Medean women!" he said.