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Updated: May 13, 2025
By this time he had reached the door of Paul's room, and, on his ringing, the door was at once opened; but at the sight of this woman he started back, with a cry of angry surprise; for it was a female figure that stood before him, a young girl Flavia, the daughter of Martin Rigal, the banker. The keen eyes of Tantaine showed him that Flavia's visit had not been of long duration.
She has puzzled him the more because he saw at a glance what some of them do not perceive at once, and what will be mercifully concealed from Arthur until the trump sounds; namely, that all Flavia's artists have done or ever will do means exactly as much to her as a symphony means to an oyster; that there is no bridge by which the significance of any work of art could be conveyed to her."
At Rouen he abandoned his luggage, which he had taken care should afford no clue as to ownership, he also relinquished his beard and spectacles, and returned to Paris as the well-known banker, Martin Rigal, the pretty Flavia's father, having, as he thought, obliterated Mascarin as completely as he had done Tantaine; but he had not noticed in the train with him a very dark young man with piercing eyes, who looked like the traveller of some respectable commercial firm.
An expression of doubt crossed Flavia's face, but she only said, "Do not disturb her," and then thoughtfully returned to her room. It was not until an hour later that the prisoner was sufficiently recovered to be brought before Flavia.
And as if to confirm his words, the cries of "Death!" again rose in the air; the tramping of feet, the angry murmurs became more loud and appeared to be filling the street close by and tending toward the very door of Dea Flavia's house. "Ah, monsters! miserable monsters!" shouted the Cæsar, crazy with fear, "to-morrow will come the awful reprisals ... to-morrow ..."
"Aye! in the midst of a garden, with roses and violets all around." "And happiness?" sighed Menecreta. And her head fell back against Dea Flavia's arm; her eyes, now veiled by the film of death gazed, sightless, up at the dome of blue. "Menecreta!" cried Dea Flavia, horror-stricken as she felt the feeble body stiffening against her with the approaching rigidity of death.
Tall, imperious and majestic, Dea Flavia unconscious alike of the deference of the crowd and the timorous astonishment of the slaves looked up at Cheiron, the auctioneer, and resumed with a touch of impatience in her rich young voice: "I said that I would bid thirty aurei for this girl!" Less than a minute had elapsed since Dea Flavia's sudden appearance on the scene.
He could see the lids with their fringe of golden lashes fall wearily over the eyes, he could trace the shudder of horror which shook the slender figure from time to time. Once the lilies dropped from Dea Flavia's hand, and the soft swishing sound which they made in falling caused her to wake as from a reverie.
"If you mean a bad one, come home," the Colonel rejoined, taking the lad good-humouredly he was not blind to the flush of indignation which dyed Flavia's cheeks "I'll take the wit for welcome. To be sure, to die in Ireland is an Irishman's hope, all the world over." "True for you, Colonel!" Uncle Ulick said.
He had no desire to live with a rope round his neck, to flee to the bog on the least alarm, and, in the issue, to give his name to an Irish Glencoe. A stranger position it had been hard to conceive; or one more humiliating to a proud and untamed spirit such as Flavia's. What arguments, what prayers, what threats The McMurrough used to bring her to it, Colonel Sullivan could not guess.
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