The throw had resulted in the dice each presenting a different face. It was thirty-five chances to one against this happening and it was the highest scoring throw of all. Djala coldly observed-- “What did you wish?” “Quite true,” Chrysis said in disappointed tones. “I forgot to utter a wish. I thought of something but said nothing. Does not that count just the same?” “I don’t think so; you must start again.” Chrysis made a second throw. This time the result was not decisive, it resulted in both good and bad omens and required another throw to make its meaning clear. The third throw Chrysis made with one of the dice only, and when she saw the result burst into tears. Djala said nothing but was herself uneasy. Chrysis lay upon her bed weeping with her hair in disorder. At last she turned round with an angry movement. “Why did you make me begin again? I am sure the first throw counted.” “It would have done if you had expressed a wish, but you did not. You are the only one who knows what your desire was.” “Besides, dice prove nothing. It is a Greek game. I don’t believe in it. I am going to try something else.” She dried her tears and crossed the room. She took from the table a box of white counters, selected twenty-two of them, and then with the point of a pearl hook scratched one after the other the letters of the Hebrew alphabet upon them. “I rely upon this. It never deceives one,” she said. “Raise the front of your robe, that shall be my bag.” She threw the twenty-two counters into the slave’s tunic, repeating in her mind-- “Shall I wear Aphrodite’s necklace? Shall I wear Aphrodite’s necklace? Shall I wear Aphrodite’s necklace?” She drew out the tenth arcanum which clearly meant-- “Yes.” CHAPTER VI THE ROSE OF CHRYSIS THE LOVELY It was a white, blue, yellow, red and green procession. Thirty courtesans advanced carrying baskets of flowers, snow-white doves with red feet, veils of the most fragile azure and valuable ornaments. An old white-bearded priest, enveloped from head to foot in stiff unbleached stuff walked in front of this procession of youth and guided towards the stone altar the line of devout worshippers. They sang, and their song rose and fell like the sound of the sea and the winds. The first two carried harps, which they held in the palm of their left hands and bent forward like sickles of slender wood. One of them advanced and said-- “Tryperha, beloved Cypris, offers thee this blue veil which she has spun herself so that thou mayst continue thy goodness to her.” Another said-- “Mousairon lays at the feet of the Goddess of the beautiful crown, these garlands and bouquets of flowers. She has worn them at the fête and has invoked thy name in the intoxication of their perfumes. O Conqueror, receive these spoils of love.” Another one said--