Demetrios had ceased to think. The ivory comb and the silver mirror which he carried in his tunic had slipped from his memory. He abandoned himself voluptuously to serene contemplation. Outside, a tempest of bird-songs twittered, whistled, sang in the garden. Women’s voices were heard, talking and laughing at the foot of the walls. The bustle of the early morning arose from the awakened earth. Demetrios experienced nothing but feelings of bliss. The sun was already high, and the shadow of the roof had already shifted when he heard a confused sound of light feet upon the outer flight of steps. It was doubtless a sacrifice to be offered to the goddess, a procession of young women coming to carry out or utter vows before the statue, for the first day of the Aphrodisiæ. Demetrios resolved to fly. The sacred pedestal opened at the back, in a way known only to the priests and the sculptor. It was there that the hierophant stood to dictate to a young girl whose voice was clear and high the miraculous discourses which issued from the statue on the third day of the fête. Thence one might reach the gardens. Demetrios entered, and stopped before the bronze-plated openings which pierced the massive stone. The two golden doors swung heavily open. Then the procession entered. V THE INVITATION Towards the middle of the night, Chrysis was awakened by three knocks at the door. She had slept all day between the two Ephesians, and, but for the disorder of their bed, they might have been taken for three sisters together. The Galilæan’s thigh, bathed in perspiration, rested heavily upon Rhodis nestling up against her hostess. Myrtocleia was asleep upon her breast, with her face in her arm and her back uncovered. A sound of voices was heard in the entrance. Chrysis disengaged herself with great care, stepping over her companions, and getting down from the couch, held the door ajar. “Who is it, Djala? Who is it?” she asked. “It is Naukrates who wants to see you. I have told him you are not at liberty.” “What nonsense! Certainly I am at liberty! Enter, Naukrates, I am in my room.” And she went back to bed. ill-034 Naukrates remained for some time on the threshold, as if fearing to commit an indiscretion. The two music-girls opened their sleep-laden eyes and made efforts to tear themselves away from their dreams. “Sit down,” said Chrysis. “There is no need for coquetry between us. I know that you do not come for me. What do you want of me?” Naukrates was a philosopher of repute, who had been Bacchis’s lover for more than twenty years, and did not deceive her, more from indolence than fidelity. His grey hair was cut short, his beard pointed à la Demosthenes, and his moustache cropped so as not to hide his lips. He wore a large white garment made of simple wool with a plain stripe. “I am the bearer of an invitation,” he said. “Bacchis is giving a dinner to-morrow, to be followed by a fête. We shall be seven, with you. Don’t fail to come.”