V

THE MIRROR, THE COMB, AND THE NECKLACE

She had a special beauty of her own. Her hair seemed two ma.s.ses of gold, but it was too abundant, and it padded her low forehead with two heavy waves charged with amber, which swallowed up the ears and twisted themselves into a seven-fold coil upon the nape of the neck. The nose was delicate, with expressive nostrils which palpitated sometimes, surmounting a thick and painted mouth, with rounded mobile corners. The supple line of the body undulated at every stop, receiving animation from the harmonious motion of her unfettered b.r.e.a.s.t.s, or from the swing of the beautiful hips that supported her lissom waist.

When she was within ten paces of the young man, she turned her eyes upon him. Demetrios was seized with trembling. They were extraordinary eyes; blue, but deep and brilliant at the same time, humid, weary, bathed in tears and flashing fire, almost closed under the weight of the eyelids and eyelashes. The glance of these eves was like the siren's song.

Whosoever crossed their path was inevitably a captive. She knew it well, and cunningly she used their virtue; but she counted still more upon affected indifference as a weapon of attack against the man whom so much sincere love had been incapable of touching deeply.

The navigators who have sailed over the purple seas, beyond the Ganges, relate that they have seen, beneath the water, rocks of magnetic stone.

When ships pa.s.s near them, the nails and iron fittings are wrenched down to the submarine cliff and remain fixed to it for ever. And what was once a swift craft, a habitation, a living being, becomes nought but a flotsam of planks, scattered by the winds, tossed by the waves. Thus did Demetrios, in the presence of the spell of two great eyes, lose his very self, and all his strength ebbed away.

She lowered her eyes and pa.s.sed by close to him. He could have shouted with impatience. He clenched his fists. He was afraid of not being able to recover a calm att.i.tude, for speak to her he must. Nevertheless he approached her with the formula of convention.

"I salute you," said he.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "I salute you," said he. "I salute you also," answered the woman]

"I salute you also," answered the woman.

Demetrios continued:

"Where are you going to in so leisurely a fashion?"

"I am going home."

"Alone?"

"Alone."

And she made a movement as if to resume her walk.

Then Demetrios thought that perhaps he had made a mistake in taking her for a courtesan. For some time past, the wives of the magistrates and functionaries had taken to dressing and painting themselves like the women of pleasure. She was probably a woman of honourable reputation, and it was not without irony that he finished his question thus:

"To your husband?"

She put her two hands to her sides and began to laugh.

"I haven't one this evening."

Demetrios bit his lip and suggested, almost timidly:

"Don't look for one. You have set to work too late. There is no one about now."

"Who told you that I was looking for one? I am taking a walk by myself, and am looking for nothing."

"Where have you come from then? You certainly have not put on all those jewels for your own pleasure, and that silken veil. . ."

"Would you have me go out naked, or dressed in wool like a slave-woman?

I dress for my own benefit. I like to know that I am beautiful, and I look at my fingers as I walk in order to recognise all my rings . . ."

"You ought to have a mirror in your hand and look at nothing but your eyes. Those eyes did not see the light at Alexandria. You are a Jewess.

I recognise it by your voice, which is softer than ours."

"No, I am not a Jewess. I am a Galilaen."

"What is your name, Miriam or Noemi?"

"My Syriac name you shall not know. It is a royal name which is not home here. My friends call me Chrysis, and it is a compliment that you might have paid me."

He put his hand on her arm.

"Oh! no, no," she said mockingly. "It is much too late for this kind of trifling. Let me go home quickly. I have been up for nearly three hours.

I am dying of hunger."

Bending down, she took her foot in her hand:

[Ill.u.s.tration: Bending down, she took her foot in her hand.]

"See how my little thongs hurt me. They are too tightly strapped. If I do not loose them in a moment, I shall have a mark on my foot, and that will be a pretty object to kiss. Leave me quickly. Ah! what an ado! If I had known, I would not have stopped. My yellow veil is all crumpled at the waist, look."

Demetrios pa.s.sed his hand over his forehead; then, with the careless air of a man who condescends to make his choice, he murmured:

"Show me the way."

"I shall do nothing of the kind," said Chrysis with a stupefied air.

"You do not even ask me whether it is my pleasure.

"Show me the way! Listen to him! Do you take me for a p.o.r.neion-girl, who puts herself on her back for three obols without looking to see who is possessing her? Do you even know whether I am free? Do you know what appointments I may have? Have you followed me in the street? Have you noted the doors that open for me? Have you counted the men who think they are loved by Chrysis? Show me the way! I shall not show it you, if you please. Stay here or go away, but you shall not go home with me!"

"You do not know who I am."

"You? Of course I do! You are Demetrios of Sais; you made the statue of my G.o.ddess; you are the lover of my queen and the lord of my town. But for me you are nothing but a handsome slave, because you have seen me and you love me."

She came a little nearer to him, and went on in a caressing voice:

"Yes, you love me. Oh! don't interrupt me. I know what you are going to say: you love no one, you are loved. You are the Well-beloved, the Darling, the Idol. You refused Glycera, who had refused Antiochus.

Demona.s.sa the Lesbian, who had sworn to die a virgin, entered your bed during your sleep, and would have taken you by force if your two Lybian slaves had not put her naked into the street. Callistion, the well-named, despairing of approaching you, has bought the house opposite yours, and shows herself at the open window in the morning, as scantily dressed as Artemis in the bath. You think that I do not know all that?

But we courtesans hear of everything. I heard of you the night of your arrival at Alexandria; and since then not a single day has pa.s.sed without your name being mentioned. I even know things you have forgotten. I even know things that you do not yet know yourself. Poor little Phyllis hanged herself the day before yesterday on your door-post, did she not? well, the fashion is catching. Lyde has done like Phyllis: I saw her this evening as I pa.s.sed, she was quite blue, but the tears were not yet dry upon her cheeks. You don't know who Lyde is? a child, a little fifteen-year-old courtesan whom her mother sold last month to a Samian shipwright who was pa.s.sing the night at Alexandria before going up the river to Thebes. She came to see me. I gave her some advice; she knew absolutely nothing, not even how to play at dice. I often took her in my bed, because, when she had no lover, she did not know where to sleep. And she loved you! If you had seen her hug me to her and call me by your name. She wanted to write to you. Do you understand? I told her it was not worth while. . ."

[Ill.u.s.tration]