At this amusement Marcian found her.

Upon her head perched a little songster; on her shoulder nestled a dove; two fledglings in the palm of her hand opened their beaks for food.

Since her last visit a bird had died, and Heliodora's eyes were still moist from the tears she had shed over it.
'You do not love birds,' she said, after gazing fixedly at Marcian a moment through the trellis.
'I never thought,' was the reply, 'whether I loved them or not.' 'I had rather give my love to them than to any of mankind.

They repay it better.' She came forth, carefully closed the wicket behind her, and began to pace in the gallery as though she were alone.

Presently she stood to gaze over the city spread before her, and her eyes rested upon the one vast building--so it seemed--which covered the Palatine Hill.
'Marcian!' He drew near.