It was her grandmother, the Lady Claudia, once a beauty of the great capital, now gray and wrinkled, but still erect with patrician pride.
Vergilius had risen quickly, bowed low, and kissed her hand.
"I often saw you, son of my friend, when you were a child," said she.
"I remember when you were young you went away with the legions." "To learn the art of war," he answered.
"Sit down, dear grandmother," said the girl, as he brought a chair.
"Now let her hear you tell me why it is that you have chosen me, dear Vergilius--let her hear you." "I know not.

Perhaps because your beauty, sweet girl, is like the snare of the fowler and brought me to your hand.

Then something in your eyes captured the heart of me--something better than beauty.

It is the light of your soul.

Love and peace and innocence and gentleness and all good are in it.