The slave threw some pebbles at him and they entered a lofty vaulted hall.
A woman was crouching in the centre warming herself at a fire of brushwood, the smoke of which escaped through the holes in the ceiling.
She was half hidden by her white hair which fell to her knees; and unwilling to answer, she muttered with idiotic look words of vengeance against the Barbarians and the Carthaginians.
The runner ferreted right and left.

Then he returned to her and demanded something to eat.

The old woman shook her head, and murmured with her eyes fixed upon the charcoal: "I was the hand.

The ten fingers are cut off.

The mouth eats no more." The slave showed her a handful of gold pieces.