When we had kissed our full, we began to talk, seated hand in hand beneath the oak.

“What have you been doing this day, beloved?” she asked.

“Much what I do every day, Heliodore.  I have attended to my duties, which are threefold, as Chamberlain, as Master of the Palace, and as Captain of the Guard.  Also, for a little while, I saw the Augusta, to whom I had to report various matters.  The interview was brief, since a rumour had reached her that the Armenian regiments refuse to take the oath of fidelity to her alone, as she has commanded should be done, and demand that the name of the Emperor, her son, should be coupled with hers, as before.  This report disturbed her much, so that she had little time for other business.”

“Did you speak of my father’s matter, Olaf?”

“Aye, shortly.  She listened, and asked whether I were sure that I had got the truth from him.  She added that I had best test it by what I could win from you by any arts that a man may use.  For, Heliodore, because of something that my god-mother, Martina, said to her, it is fixed in her mind that you are black-skinned and very ugly.  Therefore, the Augusta, who does not like any man about her to care for other women, thinks I may make love to you with safety.  So I prayed for leave from my duties on the guard this evening that I might sup with your father in the guest-house, and see what I could learn from one or both of you.”

“Love makes you clever, Olaf.  But hearken.  I do not believe that the Empress thinks me black and ugly any longer.  As it chanced while I walked in the inner garden this afternoon, where you said I might go when I wished to be quite alone, dreaming of our love and you, I looked up and saw an imperial woman of middle age, who was gorgeous as a peacock, watching me from a little distance.  I went on my way, pretending to see no one, and heard the lady say: 

“’Has all this trouble driven me mad, Martina, or did I behold a woman beautiful as one of the nymphs of my people’s fables wandering yonder among those bushes?’

“I repeat her very words, Olaf, not because they are true—­for, remember, she saw me at a distance and against a background of rocks and autumn flowers—­but because they were her words, which I think you ought to hear, with those that followed them.”

“Irene has said many false things in her life,” I said, smiling, “but by all the Saints these were not among them.”

Then we embraced again, and after that was finished Heliodore, her head resting on my shoulder, continued her story: 

“‘What was she like, Mistress?’ asked the lady Martina, for by this time I had passed behind some little trees.  ’I have seen no one who is beautiful in this garden except yourself.’