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"Aeneas," Anna made answer, "without bow or arrows, with javelins only, killed seven antelopes out of one herd the day he landed in Africa. He is no sluggish spearman. He might have killed twenty of your guards, he might have needed to kill only ten. But before him your hundred ruffians would have scattered like a handful of children. You and they would have had no chance against him."

"You talk," Iarbas exclaimed, "as if you admired the Phrygian pirate."

"Never you dare to miscall Aeneas to me," Anna blazed. "You are master of Carthage if you please, but not of me. Go, or promise to speak respectfully to me and of him."

Mighty of bulk Iarbas stood, towering in height, huge of girth, brawny, clad in mail, clothed as well in the elation of his triumph. Anna was sitting half recumbent, small, slight, soft-voiced and almost expressionless, yet before her gaze the eyes of the big warrior sought the floor.

"I promise," he said. "You admire him indeed."

"Naturally," Anna replied, "he is the most admirable man alive, the most admirable man who ever lived."

"Can you say that," the tall prince exclaimed, "when your poor sister's ashes are not yet cold