ZENOTHEMIS. It is true, Hermodorus, that men who were not properly initiated in the mysteries have imagined that the sad Eunoia was not a party to her own downfall. But if it were as they assert Eunoia would not be the expiating courtesan, the victim covered with stains of all sorts, the bread steeped in the wine of our shame, the pleasant offering, the meritorious sacrifice, the holocaust, the smoke of which rises to God. If they were not voluntary, there would be no merit in her sins. CALLICRATES. Does anyone know, Zenothemis in what country, under what name, in what adorable form, this ever-renascent Helen is living now? ZENOTHEMIS. A man would have to be very wise indeed to discover such a secret. And wisdom, Callicrates, is not given to poets, who live in the rude world of forms and amuse themselves, like children, with sounds and empty shows. CALLICRATES. Beware of offending the gods, impious Zenothemis; the poets are dear to them. The first laws were dictated in verse by the immortals themselves, and the oracles of the gods are poems. Hymns have a pleasant sound to celestial ears. Who does not know that the poets are prophets, and that nothing is hidden from them? Being a poet myself, and crowned with Apollo’s laurel, I will make known to all the last incarnation of Eunoia. The eternal Helen is close to us; she is looking at us, and we are looking at her. You see that woman reclining on the cushions of her couch--so beautiful and so contemplative--whose eyes shed tears, and whose lips abound with kisses! It is she! Lovely as in the time of Priam and the halcyon days of Asia, Eunoia is now called Thais. PHILINA. What do you say, Callicrates? Our dear Thais knew Paris, Menelaus, and the Achaians who fought before Ilion! Was the Trojan horse big, Thais? ARISTOBULUS. Who speaks of a horse? “I have drunk like a Thracian!” cried Chereas and he rolled under the table. Callicrates, raising his cup, cried-- “If we drink like desperate men, we die unavenged!” Old Cotta was asleep, and his bald head nodded slowly above his broad shoulders. For some time past Dorion had seemed to be greatly excited under his philosophic cloak. He reeled up to the couch of Thais. “Thais, I love you, although it is unseemly in me to love a woman.” THAIS. Why did you not love me before? DORION. Because I had not supped. THAIS. But I, my poor friend, have drunk nothing but water; therefore you must excuse me if I do not love you. Dorion did not wait to hear more, but made towards Drosea, who had made a sign to him in order to get him away from her friend. Zenothemis took the place he had left, and gave Thais a kiss on the mouth. THAIS. I thought you more virtuous. ZENOTHEMIS. I am perfect, and the perfect are subject to no laws. THAIS. But are you not afraid of sullying your soul in a woman’s arms? ZENOTHEMIS. The body may yield to lust without the soul being concerned.