The higher voice of one mingled harmoniously with the deeper tones of her companion, and two pairs of dark eyes again met, full of joyous mirth, for they well knew who was deaf, and who had quicker hearing than even the nightingale, which, perched on the green fig-tree outside, was exultingly hailing the sunrise, now with a clear, flute-like warble, now with notes of melancholy longing.

The house-keeper looked with mingled astonishment and anger at the two laughing girls, then clapped her hands loudly, exclaiming: 

“To work, wenches!  You, Chloris, prepare the morning meal; and you, Dorippe, see if the master wants anything, and bring fresh wood for the fire.  Stop your silly giggling, for laughing before sunrise causes tears at evening.  I suppose the jests of the vineyard watchmen are still lingering in your heads.  Now go, and don’t touch food till you’ve arranged your hair.”

The girls, nudging each other, left the women’s apartment, into which the dawn was now shining more brightly through the open roof.

It was a stately room, surrounded by marble columns, which bore witness to the owner’s wealth, for the floor was beautifully adorned with bright-hued pictures, mosaic work executed in colored stones by an artist from Syracuse.  They represented the young god Dionysius, the Hyades surrounding him, and in colored groups all the gifts of the divinities who watch over fields and gardens, as well as those of the Nysian god.  Each individual design, as well as the whole picture, was inclosed in a framework of delicate lines.  The hearth, over which Semestre now bent, to fan the glimmering embers with a goose-wing, was made of yellow marble.

Dorippe now returned, curtly said that the master wanted to be helped into the open air, when the sun was higher, and brought, as she had been ordered, a fresh supply of gnarled olive-branches, and pinecones, which, kindling rapidly, coaxed the wood to unite its blaze with theirs.

Glittering sparks flew upward from the crackling branches toward the open roof, and with them a column of warm smoke rose straight into the pure, cool morning air; but as the door of the women’s apartment now opened, the draught swept the gray, floating pillar sideways, directly toward Semestre, who was fanning the flames with her goose-wing.

Coughing violently, she wiped her eyes with the edge of her blue peplum, and glanced angrily at the unbidden guest who ventured to enter the women’s apartment at this hour.

As soon as she recognized the visitor she nodded pleasantly, though with a certain touch of condescension, and rose from her stool, but instantly dropped back on it again, instead of going forward to meet the new-comer.  Then she planted herself still more firmly on her seat, and, instead of uttering a friendly greeting, coughed and muttered a few unintelligible words.

“Give me a little corner by your fire, it’s a cold morning,” cried the old man in a deep voice.  “Helios freezes his people before he comes, that they may be doubly grateful for the warmth he bestows.”