To their solemn warning that she would herself be cut off, banished and hated, she replies: "He slew my child, my dearest birth-pang, to charm the Thracian winds. In the name of the perfect justice I have exacted for my daughter, in the name of Ruin and Vengeance, to whom I have sacrificed him, my hopes cannot tread the halls of fear so long as Aegisthus is true to me. There he lies, seducer of this woman, darling of many a Chryseis in Troyland. As for this captive prophetess, this babbler of oracles, she sat on the ship's bench by his side and both have fared as they deserved. He died as ye see; but she sang her swan-song of death and lies beside him she loved, bringing me a sweet relish for the luxury of my own love." A little later she denies her very humanity. "Call me not his spouse; rather the ancient dread haunting evil genius of this house has taken a woman's shape and punished him, a full-grown man in vengeance for little children." Burial he should have, but without any dirges from his people. "Let Iphigeneia, his daughter, as is most fitting, meet her father at the swift-conveying passage of woe, throw her arms about him and kiss him welcome." The last scene of this splendid drama brings forward the poltroon Aegisthus who had skulked behind in the background till the deed was done. He enters to air his ancient grievance, reminding the Chorus how his father was outraged by Atreus, how he himself was a banished man, yet found his arm long enough to smite the King from far away. In contempt for the coward the Elders prepare to offer him battle; they appeal to Orestes to avenge the murder. The quarrel was stopped by Clytemnestra, who had had enough of bloodshed and was content to leave things as they were, if the gods consented thereto.