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Updated: June 23, 2025
As well as I could understand, where no one dared explain, the wretched woman had been gambling again, and had even staked and lost her daughter's slaves. At last I understood Wanne's silence when I asked her where Mai Noie was. By some means spies probably the whole matter had come to the king's ears, and his rage was wild, not because he loved the child, but that he hated the mother.
On all the steps around, innumerable slave-women, old and young, crouched and hid their faces. But the object most conspicuous was little Wanne's mother, manacled, and prostrate on the polished marble pavement. There, too, was my poor little princess, her hands clasped helplessly, her eyes tearless but downcast, palpitating, trembling, shivering. Sorrow and horror had transformed the child.
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