"Think--think of more," said she, "and I will dance the tourina."
There was a note of gladness in her voice. It rang merry as a girdle
of silver bells. Now, on the floor near them was a golden square of
sunlight, and, tabret in hand, she sprang up and began to dance in it.
She moved swiftly back and forth, her arms extended, her white robe
flowing above the sapphires in each purple fillet on her ankles.
"Now, dear Vergilius, tell me, why do you love me?" she said, throwing
herself upon the cushions near him with glowing cheeks.
"Because you are Arria. Because Arria is you. Because I must, for
your pure and noble heart and for your beauty," said he. "When I look
upon you I forget my dreams of war and conquest; I think only of peace
and love and have no longer the heart to slay. Oh, sweet Arria! I
feel as if I should fling my swords into the Tiber."
"Oh, my love! could I make you throw your swords into the Tiber I
should be very happy." Her eyes had turned serious and thoughtful.
Her girlish trickery had come to an end.
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