“Poor Chrysis! Could I ever have thought that on her last day, I should bear her body without torches and without funeral car, secretly, like a thing stolen.” Then both began to talk volubly as if they were afraid of the silence, cheek by jowl with the corpse. The last day of Chrysis’s life filled them with astonishment. Where had she got the mirror, the necklace and the comb? She could not have taken the pearls of the goddess herself. The temple was too well guarded for a courtesan to be able to enter it. Then somebody must have acted for her? But who? She was not known to possess any lover amongst the Stolists to whom the guard of the divine statue was entrusted. And then, if someone had acted for her, why had she not denounced him? And, in any case, why these three crimes? Of what had they availed her, except to deliver her over to punishment? A woman does not commit such follies without an object, unless she be in love? Was Chrysis in love? and who could it be? “We shall never know”, concluded the flute-player. “She has taken her secret with her, and even if she had an accomplice he would be the last to enlighten us.” At this point, Rhodis, who had been resting for several instants, sighed: ill-087 _The little virgins resumed their load_ “I cannot carry her any longer, Myrto. I shall fall down on my knees, I am broken with fatigue and grief.” Myrtocleia took her by the neck: “Try again, my darling. We _must_ carry her. Her nether life is at stake. If she has no sepulture and no obol in her hand, she will roam eternally on the banks of the river of hell, and when we in our turn, Rhodis, go down to the dead, she will reproach us with our impiety, and we shall not know what to answer her.” But the child, overcome with weakness, burst into tears. “Quickly, quickly!” exclaimed Myrtocleia. “Somebody is coming along the end of the street. Place yourself in front of the body with me. Let us hide it behind our tunics . . . If it is seen, all is lost . . .” She stooped short. “It is Timon. I recognise him. Timon with four women. Ah, gods! what is going to happen? He laughs at everything and will mock us . . . But no, stay here, Rhodis; I will speak to him.” And, inspired by a sudden thought, she ran down the street to meet the little group. “Timon,” she said, and her voice was full of supplication; “Timon, stop. I have grave words to utter to you alone.” “My poor little thing,” said the young man, “how excited you are! Have you lost your shoulder-knot or have you dropped your doll and broken its nose? This would be an irreparable disaster.” The girl threw him a look of anguish; but the four women, Philotis, Seso of Cnidos, Callistion, and Tryphera, were already clamouring round her with impatience. “Get away, little idiot!” said Tryphera, “if you have dried up your nurse’s teats, we cannot help it, we have no milk. It is almost daylight, you ought to be in bed; what business have children to roam about in the moonlight?”