closed his eyes and rested, resigning himself to his weakness.
The door opened gently. Prokop opened his eyes and sat up a little in bed, as if something had raised him up. And there at the door was standing a girl, slender and bright, with clear eyes with an extraordinarily astonished look in them, lips half open with surprise, and holding to her breast a pile of white linen. Embarrassed, she remained motionless, only moving her long lashes, while her rosy face began shyly and uncertainly to smile.
Prokop’s face darkened. He made an effort to find something to say, but his head was completely empty. He moved his lips voicelessly and looked at the girl with severe eyes that were trying to recall something.
“I supplicate thee, O Queen,” came from his lips rapidly and involuntarily in Greek, “if indeed thou art a goddess of them that keep the wide heaven; to Artemis, then, the daughter of great Zeus, I mainly liken thee, for beauty and stature and shapeliness. But if thou art one of the daughters of men who dwell on earth, thrice blessed are thy father and thy lady mother, and thrice blessed thy brethren. Surely their souls ever glow with gladness each time they see thee entering the dance, so fair a flower of maidens.”
The girl made no movement. As if she were turned to stone, she listened to this greeting in an unknown language. On her smooth forehead there was so much confusion, her eyes blinked so childishly and with so much apprehension that Prokop continued with increased warmth to deliver the speech
