ThepoorgirldelightedlysatdownbesideGlaucus。Shedrewfromhergirdleaballofthemany—coloredthreads，orratherslenderribands，usedintheweavingofgarlands，andwhich（foritwasherprofessionaloccupation）shecarriedconstantlywithher，andbeganquicklyandgracefullytocommencehertask。Uponheryoungcheeksthetearswerealreadydried，afaintbuthappysmileplayedroundherlips——childlike，indeed，shewassensibleonlyofthejoyofthepresenthour：shewasreconciledtoGlaucus：hehadforgivenher——shewasbesidehim——heplayedcaressinglywithhersilkenhair——hisbreathfannedhercheek——Ione，thecruelIone，wasnotby——noneotherdemanded，divided，hiscare。Yes，shewashappyandforgetful；itwasoneofthefewmomentsinherbriefandtroubledlifethatitwassweettotreasure，torecall。Asthebutterfly，alluredbythewintersun，basksforalittleinthesuddenlight，ereyetthewindawakesandthefrostcomeson，whichshallblastitbeforetheeve——sherestedbeneathabeam，which，bycontrastwiththewontedskies，wasnotchilling；andtheinstinctwhichshouldhavewarnedherofitsbriefness，badeheronlygladdeninitssmile。
’Thouhastbeautifullocks，’saidGlaucus。’Theywereonce，Iweenwell，amother’sdelight。’
Nydiasighed；itwouldseemthatshehadnotbeenbornaslave；butsheevershunnedthementionofherparentage，and，whetherobscureornoble，certainitisthatherbirthwasneverknownbyherbenefactors，norbyanyoneinthosedistantshores，eventothelast。Thechildofsorrowandofmystery，shecameandwentassomebirdthatentersourchamberforamoment；weseeitflutterforawhilebeforeus，weknownotwhenceitflewortowhatregionitescapes。
Nydiasighed，andafterashortpause，withoutansweringtheremark，said：
’ButdoIweavetoomanyrosesinmywreath，Glaucus？Theytellmeitisthyfavoriteflower。’