m shrugged his shoulders with a laugh. "Of course, that too, into
the bargain; You will not let me off any part of it! If it had been your
eyes now, you would not have been able to see, and no countryman can do
with a blind wife, so I should leave you where you are. But you, little
one, have hearing as sharp as a bird's? And what bird--pretty little
things--did you ever see with ears, unless it were a bat or a nasty
owl?--That is all nonsense. Besides, who can see what you have lost now
that Pulcheria has brought your hair down so prettily? And do not you
remember the head-dress our women wear? You might have ears as long as
a hare's, and what good would it do you?--no one could see them. Just as
you are, a lily grown like a cypress, you are ten times sweeter to look
at than the prettiest girl there, if she had three or even four ears.
A girl with three ears! Only think, Mandane, where could the third ear
grow?"

How heartily he laughed, and how glad he was to have hit on this jest
and have turned off a subject which might so well be painful to her! But
his mirth failed of its effect, and only brought a silent smile to her
lips. Even this died quickly away, and in its place there came such a
sad, pathetic expression, as she hung her pretty head, that he
could neither carry on the joke nor reproach her sharply. He said
compassionately, with a little shake of the head:

"But you must not look like that, my pigeon: I cannot bear it. What is
it that is weighing on your little soul? Courage, courage, sweetheart,
and make a clean breast of it!--But no! Do not speak. I can spare
you that! I know, poor little darling--it is that old story of the
governor's son."

She nodded, and her eyes filled with tears; and he, with a loud sigh,
exclaimed: "I thought as much, I was right, poor child!"

He took her hand, and went on bravely:

"Yes, that has given me some bad hours, too, and a great deal to think
about; in fact, I came very near to leaving you alone and spoiling my
own happiness and yours too. But I came to my senses before it was
too late. Not on account of what Dame Joanna said the day before
yesterday--though what she says must be true, and she told me that
all--you know what--was at an end. No; my own sense told me this time;
for I said to myself: Such a motherless, helpless little thing, a slave,
too, and as pretty as the angels, her master's son took a fancy to her,
how could she defend herself? And how cruelly the