Chimairis was sitting crouching upon her left heel, on a little grass-plot between two trees and a bust. A sort of red rag, her last remaining day garment, lay spread out beneath her. At night, she slept upon it naked, at the hour the men passed. Demetrios contemplated her with growing interest. She had the feverish aspect of certain emaciated dark women whose tawny bodies seem consumed by an ever-throbbing ardour. Her powerful lips, the excessive brilliancy of her glance, her livid eyelids combined to produce a double expression of sensual lustfulness and physical exhaustion. The curve of her hollow belly and her nervous thighs formed a natural cavity, designed as if to receive; and as she had sold everything, even her combs and pins, even her depilatory tweezers, her hair was tangled together in inextricable disorder. A black pubescence invested her nudity with a certain savage and shaggy effrontery. A great he-goat stood stiffly on its four legs beside her. It was tethered to a tree by a gold chain which had formerly glittered in a quadruple coil upon its mistress’s breast. “Chimairis,” said Melitta, “get up. Here is somebody who wishes to speak to you.” The Jewess looked, but did not move. Demetrios advanced. “Do you know Chrysis?” he said. “Yes.” “Do you see her often?” “Yes.” “Will you talk to me about her?” “No.” “What? No? What? you cannot?” “No.” Melitta was stupefied. “Speak to him,” she said. “Have confidence. He loves her, he wishes her well.” “I see clearly that he loves her.” answered Chimairis. “If he loves her, he wishes her ill. If he loves her, I shall not speak.” Demetrios tingled with rage, but said nothing. “Give me your hand,” said the Jewess. “It will tell me whether I am mistaken.” She took the young man’s left hand and turned it towards the moonlight. Melitta leaned forward to see, although she could not read the mysterious lines, but their fatality attracted her. “What do you see?” said Demetrios. “I see . . . Can I tell what I see? will you be obliged to me? First I see happiness, but it is all in the past. I also see love, but it is drowned in blood . . .” “In my blood?” “In a woman’s blood. And then the blood of another woman. And then yours, a little later on.” Demetrios shrugged his shoulders, and when he turned, he perceived Melitta fleeing down the alley at full speed. “It has given her a fright,” said Chimairis. “But there is no question of Melitta or of me. Let things take their course, since nothing can be prevented. Your destiny was certain even before your birth. Go. I shall say no more.” And she dropped his hand. III LOVE AND DEATH “A woman’s blood. Afterwards another woman’s blood. Afterwards yours, but a little later on.”