"And the pretty mistress laughed with my lord Constantine--is it not true ?--and she took his helmet out of his hand and weighed it in hers..." "And you could stop on your way here to trifle with that child ?" cried Gorgo wrathfully.

"Pah! what men will do!" These words portended rage and intense disgust to Constantine.

"Gorgo!" he cried with a reproachful accent, but she could not control her indignation and went on more vehemently than ever: "You stopped--with that little hussy--on your way to me--stopped to trifle and flirt with her! Shame! Yes, I say shame! Men are thought lucky in being light-hearted, but, for my part, may the gods preserve me from such luck! Trifling, whispering, caressing--a tender squeeze of the hand--solemnly, passionately earnest!--And what next?
Who dares warrant that it will not all be repeated before the shadows are an ell long on the shore!" She laughed, a sharp, bitter laugh; but it was a short one.

She ceased and turned pale, for her lover's face had undergone a change that terrified her.

The scar on his forehead was purple, and his voice was strange, harsh and hoarse as he leaned forward to bring his face on a level with hers, and said: "Even if you had seen me with your own eyes you ought not to have believed them! And if you dare to say that you do believe it, I can say Shame! as well as you.