And Myrto took the head between her two hands, buried them in the hair, and spoke to her thus: “Chrysis, my Chrysis, you who were the most beautiful and the most adored of women, who were so like the goddess that the people took you for her, where are you now, what have they done with you? You lived to impart beneficent joy. No fruit was ever sweeter than your mouth, no light brighter than your eyes; your skin was a glorious robe that you would not veil; voluptuousness floated upon it like a perpetual odour; and when you unclasped your hair, all desires flowed from it; and when you clasped your naked arms, one implored the gods for permission to die.” Rhodis sat huddled up on the ground, sobbing. “Chrysis, my Chrysis.” pursued Myrtocleia, “but yesterday you were living, and young, and hoping for length of days, and now you are dead, and no power on earth can induce you to speak a word to us. You have closed your eyes, and we were not there. You have suffered and you did not know that we wept for you behind the walls. Your dying eyes looked for someone and did not meet our eyes stricken with sorrow and pity.” The flute-girl wept continually. The singing girl took her by the hand. “Chrysis, my Chrysis, you once told us that one day, thanks to you, we should marry. Our union is one of tears, and sad is the betrothal of Rhodis and Myrtocleia. But sorrow, rather than love, welds together two enclasped hands. Those who have once wept together will never desert one another. We are going to lay your dear body under the ground, Chrysidion, and we will both of us cut off our hair upon your tomb.” She enveloped the beautiful body and then she said to Rhodis: “Help me.” ill-086 They lifted her up gently; but the burden was a heavy one for the little musicians, and they laid it down upon the ground. “Let us take off our sandals,” said Myrto. “Let us walk bare-footed in the corridors. The gaoler is surely asleep. If we do not wake him we shall pass, but if he sees us he will prevent us . . . To-morrow matters not: when he sees the empty bed, he will say to the Queen’s soldiers that he has thrown the body into a ditch, according to the law. Let us fear nothing, Rhodis! . . . Put your sandals in your girdle, like me. And come! Take the body under the knees. Let the feet hang behind. Walk without noise, slowly, slowly . . .” V PIETY After the turning of the second street, they laid the body down a second time in order in put on their sandals. Rhodis’s feet, too delicate to walk naked, were torn and bleeding. The night was full of brilliancy. The town was full of silence. The iron-coloured shadows lay in square blocks in the middle of the streets, according to the profile of the houses. The little virgins resumed their load. “Where are we going to?” asked the child. “Where are we going to bury it?” “In the cemetery of Hermanubis. It is always deserted, it will be in peace there.”