Demetrios went a little further still beneath the trees, while the courtesan turned her head to watch them. At last they reached the spot they sought, and Melitta said-- “Here it is.” Chimairis was squatting on her left heel in a little turfy glade between two trees and a bush. She had beneath her a red rag, which was her sole remaining garment in the daytime, and on which she lay when the men passed. Demetrios looked at her with growing interest. She had the feverish look of some thin, dark women whose tawny bodies seem to be consumed by ever-present ardour. Her great lips, her eager gaze, her livid eyes, gave her a double expression--that of covetous sensuality and exhaustion. As Chimairis had sold everything--even her toilet instruments--her hair was in indescribable disorder, while the down upon her body gave her something of the appearance of a shameless and hairy savage. Near her was a great stag, fastened to a tree by a gold chain which had once adorned her mistress’s breast. “Chimairis,” Melitta said, “get up. Some one wants to speak to you.” The Jewess looked, but did not move. Demetrios approached. “Do you know Chrysis?” he asked. “Yes.” “Do you see her often?” “Yes.” “Can you tell me about her?” “No.” “Why not? Can’t you do so?” “No.” Melitta was surprised. “Speak to him,” she said. “Have confidence in him. He loves her and wishes her well.” “I can clearly see that he loves her,” Chimairis replied. “If he loves her he wishes her ill. If he loves her I will not speak.” Demetrios trembled with anger, but did not speak. “Give me your hand,” the Jewess said to him. “I will see whether I am mistaken.” She took the young man’s left hand and turned towards the moonlight. Melitta leant over to watch, although she did not know how to read the mysterious lines; but their fatality attracted her. “What do you see?” Demetrios asked. “I see--may I tell you what I see? Shall you be pleased? Will you believe me? First of all I see happiness, but that is in the past. I see love, too, but that is lost in blood.” “Mine?” “The blood of a woman. Then the blood of another woman; and then, a little later, your own.” Demetrios shrugged his shoulders. Melitta uttered a cry. “She is frightened,” Chimairis went on. “But this concerns neither her nor me. Events must come to pass, since we cannot prevent them. From before your birth your destiny was certain. Go away. I shall say no more.” She let his hand drop. CHAPTER III IMMORTAL LOVE AND MORTAL DEATH “A woman’s blood. Afterwards the blood of another woman. Afterwards thine; but a little later.”