She jumped out of bed the first, dipped her finger in the honey-bowl and moistened her lips; then, making a thousand efforts not to laugh, she bent over Demetrios and rubbed her mouth against his. Her round curls danced on either side of their cheeks. The young man smiled and leaned upon his elbow. “What is your name?” he asked. “Melitta. Did you not see my name upon the door?” “I did not look.” “You can see it in my room. They have written it all over the walls. I shall soon be forced to have them repainted.” Demetrios raised his head: the four panels of the chamber were covered with inscriptions. “That is very curious, indeed.” said he. “May one read?” “Oh, if you like. I have no secrets.” He read. Melitta’s name was there several times repeated, coupled with various men’s names and barbaric drawings. Tender, obscene, or comic sentences jostled oddly with one another. Lovers boasted of their vigour, or detailed the charms of the little courtesan, or poked fun at her girl-friends. All this was interesting merely as a written proof of a general degradation. But, looking towards the bottom of the right-hand panel, Demetrios gave a start. “What is that? What is that? Speak!” “Who? What? Where?” said the child. “What is the matter with you?” “Here. That name. Who wrote that?” And his finger stopped under this double line. ΜΕΛΙΤΤΑ .Λ. ΧΡΥΣΙΔΑ ΧΡΥΣΙΣ .Λ. ΜΕΛΙΤΤΑΝ “Ah!” she answered, “that’s me. I wrote that.” “Who is she, Chrysis?” “My great friend.” “I dare say. That is not what I ask you. Which Chrysis? There are many.” “Mine, the most beautiful. Chrysis of Galilee.” “You know her! you know her! But speak, speak! Where does she come from? where does she live? who is her lover? tell me everything!” He sat down upon the couch and took the little girl upon his knees. “You are in love, then?” she said. “That matters little to you. Tell me what you know; I am in a hurry to hear everything.” “Oh! I know nothing at all. It is quite short. She has been to see me twice, and you may imagine that I have not asked her for details about her family. I was too happy to have her, and I did not lose time in conversation.” “How is she made?” “Like a pretty girl, what do you expect me to say? Do you want me to name all the parts of her body, adding that everything is beautiful? And then, she is a woman, a real woman . . . Every time I think about her I desire somebody.” ill-027 And she put her arm round the neck of Demetrios. “Don’t you know anything about her?” he began again. “I know—I know that she comes from Galilee, that she is nearly twenty years old, and that she lives in the Jews’ quarter, in the east end, near the gardens. But that is all.” “And about her life, her tastes? can you tell me nothing? She is fond of women, since she came to see you. But is she altogether Lesbian?”