She was pliant in form as a young palm-tree when it bends, and withal she had a noble dignity, even on the occasion when I first saw her.
"It was a hideous spot, the revolting prison-hall of Rhyakotis.

She wore only a threadbare robe that had once been costly, and a foul old woman followed her about--as a greedy rat might pursue an imprisoned dove--and loaded her with abusive language.

She answered not a word, but large heavy tears flowed slowly over her pale cheeks and down on to her hands, which she kept crossed on her bosom.

Grief and anguish spoke from her eyes, but no vehement passion deformed the regularity of her features.
She knew how to endure even ignominy with grace, and what words the raging old woman poured out upon her! "I had long since been baptized, and all the prisons were open to me, the rich Menander, the brother-in-law of the prefect--those prisons in which under Maximin so many Christians were destined to be turned from the true faith.
"But she did not belong to us.

Her eye met mine, and I signed my forehead with the cross, but she did not respond to the sacred sign.