In those days when the Athenian languished amidst songs and perfumes, overwhelmed by the caresses of the Greek woman, who seemed to blaze with the fire of the last passion of her life, he sprang from his couch at dawn, slung his bow across his back, and followed by two handsome dogs tramped through the Saguntine domain, giving chase to the wildcats which came down from the surrounding mountains. On one of these excursions he had an adventure. It was noon; the sun's warm light fell upon the land, and the panting dogs halted, barking at a grove of ancient fig trees with branches sweeping the ground, forming shady canopies of dense foliage. Actæon, quieting the animals, approached cautiously with bow ready to draw, and as he parted the curtain of leaves he saw in the centre of an open space enclosed by the trees his two friends Rhanto and Erotion. The boy was seated on the ground before a pile of red clay which he was carefully modeling, wrinkling his brow, and whistling intently. The shepherdess, completely nude, with the assurance of healthy and innocent beauty, happy in being admired, was smiling at Erotion, her cheeks flushing lightly every time the artist raised his eyes from the clay to the model. Actæon drank in with his eyes the form of her vernal body. He felt the enthusiasm of the Greeks in the presence of beauty, intensified by the ardor of manhood. He admired her bosom, tender and small as buds, barely perceptible; her lightly curving hips; the line from her throat to her feet soft and undulating, which served to give more elegance to her chaste appearance; the grace of strong and beautiful girlhood, in addition to the attraction of sex. With the taste of a Greek of refinement he rejoiced in the freshness of her form, comparing it mentally with Sónnica's opulent but somewhat over-ripe charms. Rhanto, as she saw the Greek's head appear between the leaves, uttered a piercing scream and scurried behind a fig tree in search of her clothes. Bells tinkled among the foliage and the goats thrust forward their glossy muzzles, their moist eyes, and curving horns. "Is it you, Athenian?" said Erotion, arising with a gesture of ill humor. "You have frightened Rhanto by your unexpected presence." Then he added maliciously, "Rhanto is your slave. I am well aware of that. And I also know that you are the master of the pottery where I work. You have risen much since that morning when we met you on the highway of the Serpent. You have dominion over Sónnica the rich. Love has made her your slave." "I am not master of anyone," said the Greek simply. "I am your friend, and I do not forget that the first bread I ate in this city I received from your hands." Erotion seemed to gain confidence at these words.