A thousand joys and sorrows, shared in common, bound them to each other,
and in the farthest horizons of her recollections lay an event which had
given her affection for him a new direction. His mother and hers had
died on the same day, and since then Xanthe had thought it her duty to
watch over and care for him, at first, probably, only as a big live doll,
afterward in a more serious way. And now he was deceiving her and going
to ruin. Yet Phaon was so entirely different from the wild fellows in
Syracuse.
From a child he had been one of those who act without many words. He
liked to wander dreamily in lonely paths, with his large, dark eyes fixed
on the ground.
He rarely spoke, unless questioned. Never did he boast of being able to
accomplish, or having successfully performed, this or that feat.
He was silent at his work, and, even while engaged in merry games, set
about a task slowly, but completed whatever he undertook.
He was welcome in the wrestling-ring and at the dance, for the youths
respected his strength, grace, dexterity, and the quiet way in which he
silenced wranglers and boasters; while the maidens liked to gaze into the
handsome dreamer's eyes, and admired him, though even in the maddest
whirl of the dance he remained passionless, moving lightly in perfect
time to the measures of the tambourine and double flute.
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