Whenever Xanthe used it, she insisted upon having her own way, and did what she pleased, while Semestre, who usually never admitted that her hearing was no longer so keen as in former clays, in such cases willingly pleaded her deafness, in order to avoid a retreat.
To-day she particularly shrank from irritating the easily-excited girl, and therefore replied: "What did you say?
Wouldn't it be better for you to go and cut the roses immediately, my dove?
Make haste, for the vessel for which you are to watch bears your happiness.

How beautiful the ornaments Leonax is bringing will look! We have never yet seen the like, I imagine.

The people in Messina haven't forgotten poor me either, for I heard whispers about a robe such as matrons wear.

It is--it might be--well, we shall see." Tittering, and almost embarrassed, she fixed her eyes upon the ground, reminded Xanthe once more to have her called as soon as the ship from Messina appeared, and then, leaning on her myrtle-staff, tottered up the path leading to the temple of the goddess.
Xanthe did not go directly down to the sea, but approached her uncle's house to seek Phaon with her eyes.
As she could not see him, either in the stables, or the walk lined with fig-trees trained upon espaliers beside the house, she turned quickly away, repressing out of pride her desire to call him.
On her way to the sea she met her uncle's high-shouldered slave.

Xanthe stopped and questioned him.
Semestre had told no lie.