"Dost thou love her, Acte?" inquired Vinicius, gloomily.
"Yes, I love her." And tears glittered in the eyes of the freedwoman.
"Thou lovest her because she has not repaid thee with hatred, as she has me."
Acte looked at him for a time as if hesitating, or as if wishing to learn if he spoke sincerely; then she said,—"O blind and passionate man—she loved thee."
Vinicius sprang up under the influence of those words, as if possessed. "It is not true."