Radoico, the pride of Servia, had been taken prisoner with his twelve comrades by the people of Zara.  The Aga had confined them in the strong tower.  Four of them had already died of grief.  Their bodies had been thrown into the sea.  But Radoico was still as vigilant and bright as ever.  He reflected that the Aga was approaching the end of his days, while he was in the prime of his life; if he must wait until his jailor's death he would be patient; later he would return to the country and take his revenge.
    Sometimes the young man would place his elbows upon the sill of the barred window and, with his chin resting on his hand, would gaze at the sky and sea.  At the foot of the tower he could also see the esplanade of the fortress.
    Every morning, the Aga's daughter, the lovely Ivana, crossed it with her women on her way to the bath.  She turned her face toward the window in the tower.  At the beginning, it was as if a melancholy thought escaped from her eyes and ascended to the prisoner; but later, when they espied each other, they smiled—Aginica, from the French of Jean Dornis. (The International, v.1, 1896).