column, and recognized in that image of abasement the Prince of Naples,
the young lord of Sicily. Swiftly, but with the stately grace of those
who of old time moved and allured in the streets of Rome when the feast
of Flora was towards, she passed through the thick grasses to the column
and the King. She knew it was he by his habit, by the familiar form,
though she could not see his face, and she wondered why he sat there
alone and with such show of grief. She was by his side without his
hearing her, and it was not until she spoke that he knew of her
presence.

"My lord!" she said, softly, in a voice as sweet as the voices of the
women who sang the praises of the mystic Venus in the secret gardens of
Cyrene.

Robert jerked his head from his hands, startled to find that he was no
longer alone, but, when he saw who it was that had interrupted his
meditations, wonder and joy contended in his countenance.

"Lycabetta!" he cried; "Lycabetta, by the gods! Why is the priestess of
love on these summits?"

Lycabetta had dropped on her knees at his feet in Oriental abasement,
but her face was raised to his and her eyes were lamps of passion.

"Sire," she sighed. "If I disturb your Majesty's quiet, sign and I will
retire."

Robert, bending to her, caught her by the shoulders, and, lifting her to
her feet, kissed her mouth.

"No, no!" he cried. "Stay, fair priestess of the ungovernable flesh.
What brought you here?"

Lycabetta knitted her white fingers together beseechingly.

"Your Majesty is a most Christian king. Will you promise me your pardon
if I confess to a pagan superstition?"

Robert kissed her again and laughed. Her trained senses knew the
unreality of his kisses, of the words with which he answered her.

"Exquisite idol, I could pardon you much for the sake of your kisses.
What bountiful wind has blown you to the height of this Sicilian
hillock?"

Lycabetta answered him humbly, the false humility enhancing her
exuberant beauty.

"When I and my women followed your Majesty from Naples--for what could
such poor sunflowers as we are do without our sun?--I learned that on
this hill there stood long ago a temple to Venus, very propitious to
women of my kind, who came and prayed there. Your father suffered no
daughters of delight to ply their trade in Syracuse, and so in gratitude
for our happy restoration I came to kneel in the ancient, sacred dust.
My litter bore me part of the way, till the path became too s