His glance continued to rest upon her face for an instant before it went back to the fragment. It was easy enough for him to read them both, and a malicious smile twitched his mouth as he understood that Ariston had a jealous wife. The idea struck him as distinctly ridiculous. More in idleness than with any direct purpose, excepting that of making mischief, he determined to humor her mood.
"It is difficult to understand," he said, looking carefully at the papyrus, "as it seems to have been burned. But here it says: 'When shall I hear thy voice and see thy face?' and here: 'While I live, I am thine.' It sounds like a poet, but the writing is that of a woman. You seem to have surprised some romantic love affair. You probably have some amorous youth among your neighbors whom a girl is foolish enough to adore."
Xanthe's forebodings had suddenly become realities. Ariston, then, was deceiving her, and she had not been mistaken in him. Of that, she was now certain. He had probably always deceived her and she had been a fool ever to believe him. Her world seemed coming to an end.
"Why do you say that the letter was sent to a young man?" she asked. "Might it not have been an old one?"
"I dare say," the Egyptian replied carelessly. "Old men are often the worst in these matters."
"This girl, whoever she may be, seems very much in love with him," Xanthe remarked.
"No doubt," Mena said, watching her with increasing amusement, "and probably he has a wife of his own. Why else should he burn the letter?"
Xanthe winced at this thrust, although she had no idea that Mena had fathomed what was in her mind. "At any rate, he cannot marry her," she said, as though thinking aloud.
"The old one might die, you know," Mena suggested. "Such things have been known to happen at the right moment."
These words were accompanied by a look so full of meaning that poor Xanthe felt a chill of apprehension. She did not trust herself to say more, but carried away the fragment to her own room, where she concealed it.