Never Attica—­never the whole of Greece, produced a lovelier flower than was this woman.  She sat by a table on which was a lighted lamp, and was writing something on marble tables.  Her long drooping eyelashes threw a shadow on her cheeks, but from time to time she raised her head and her eyes, as though she were trying to remember what she had to write, and then one could see her beautiful eyes, so blue that compared with them the turquoise depths of the Archipelago would look pale and faded.  Her face was white as the sea-foam, pink as the dawn, with purplish Syrian lips and waves of golden hair.  She was beautiful, the most beautiful being on earth—­beautiful as the dawn, as a flower, as light, as song!  This was Eryfile.

When she dropped her eyes she appeared quiet and sweet; when she lifted them, inspired.  The Radiant’s divine knees began to tremble; suddenly he leaned his head on Hermes’ shoulder, and whispered: 

“Hermes, I love her!  This one or none!”

Hermes smiled ironically, and would have rubbed his hands for joy under cover of his robe if he had not held in his right hand the caduceus.

In the mean while the golden-haired woman took a new tablet and began to write on it.  Her divine lips were disclosed and her voice whispered; it was like the sound of Apollo’s lyre.

“The member of the Areopagus Melanocles for the bread for two months, forty drachmas and four obols; let us write in round numbers forty-six drachmas.  By Athena! let us write fifty; my husband will be satisfied!  Ah, that Melanocles!  If you were not in a position to bother us about false weight, I never would give you credit.  But we must keep peace with that locust.”

Apollo did not listen to the words.  He was intoxicated with the woman’s voice, the charm of her figure, and whispered: 

“This one or none!”

The golden-haired woman spoke again, writing further: 

“Alcibiades, for cakes on honey from Hymettus for Hetera Chrysalis, three minae.  He never verifies bills, and then he once gave me in Stoa a slap on the shoulder—­we will write four minae.  He is stupid; let him pay for it.  And then that Chrysalis!  She must feed with cakes her carp in the pond, or perhaps Alcibiades makes her fat purposely, in order to sell her afterwards to a Phoenician merchant for an ivory ring for his harness.”

Again Apollo paid no attention to the words—­he was enchanted with the voice alone and whispered to Hermes: 

“This one or none!”

But Maya’s son suddenly covered the house, the apparition disappeared, and it seemed to the Radiant Apollo that with it disappeared the stars, that the moon became black, and the whole world was covered with the darkness of Chimera.

“When shall we decide the wager?” asked Hermes.

“Immediately.  To-day!”

“During her husband’s absence she sleeps in the store.  You can stand in the street before the door.  If she raises the curtain and opens the gate, I have lost my wager.”