CHAPTER X.
THE STORY OF A DIVINE TRAGEDY The following morning, there was a rap at the door of the chamber to which Laodice had been led and informed that it was her own.
She had passed a sleepless night and had risen early, but the knock came late in the morning.
She opened the door.
Without stood a ten year old girl, of the most bewitching beauty, as barely clad as ever the children of her blood went over the green meadows of Achaia.

Her golden hair was knotted on the back of her pretty head and held in place by an ampyx.

On her feet were tiny sheepskin buskins; about her perfect little body, worn carelessly, was a simple chiton, out of which her dimpled shoulders and small round arms showed pink and tender as field-flowers.

Nothing could have been more composed than her gaze at Laodice.
"We breakfast in the hall, now.

You are to join us," she said.
Laodice stepped, out of the chamber into the court and followed her little guide.
"The mistress and her guests rise late," the child went on.