Her father had not wished her to enter the college of priestesses, nor even to be made at all acquainted with the popular Tanith.  He was reserving her for some alliance that might serve his political ends; so that Salammbo lived alone in the midst of the palace.  Her mother was long since dead.

She had grown up with abstinences, fastings and purifications, always surrounded by grave and exquisite things, her body saturated with perfumes, and her soul filled with prayers.  She had never tasted wine, nor eaten meat, nor touched an unclean animal, nor set her heels in the house of death.

She knew nothing of obscene images, for as each god was manifested in different forms, the same principle often received the witness of contradictory cults, and Salammbo worshipped the goddess in her sidereal presentation.  An influence had descended upon the maiden from the moon; when the planet passed diminishing away, Salammbo grew weak.  She languished the whole day long, and revived at evening.  During an eclipse she nearly died.

But Rabetna, in jealousy, revenged herself for the virginity withdrawn from her sacrifices, and she tormented Salammbo with possessions, all the stronger for being vague, which were spread through this belief and excited by it.

Unceasingly was Hamilcar’s daughter disquieted about Tanith.  She had learned her adventures, her travels, and all her names, which she would repeat without their having any distinct signification for her.  In order to penetrate into the depths of her dogma, she wished to become acquainted, in the most secret part of the temple, with the old idol in the magnificent mantle, whereon depended the destinies of Carthage, for the idea of a god did not stand out clearly from his representation, and to hold, or even see the image of one, was to take away part of his virtue, and in a measure to rule him.

But Salammbo turned around.  She had recognised the sound of the golden bells which Schahabarim wore at the hem of his garment.

He ascended the staircases; then at the threshold of the terrace he stopped and folded his arms.

His sunken eyes shone like the lamps of a sepulchre; his long thin body floated in its linen robe which was weighted by the bells, the latter alternating with balls of emeralds at his heels.  He had feeble limbs, an oblique skull and a pointed chin; his skin seemed cold to the touch, and his yellow face, which was deeply furrowed with wrinkles, was as if it contracted in a longing, in an everlasting grief.

He was the high priest of Tanith, and it was he who had educated Salammbo.

“Speak!” he said.  “What will you?”

“I hoped—­you had almost promised me—­” She stammered and was confused; then suddenly:  “Why do you despise me? what have I forgotten in the rites?  You are my master, and you told me that no one was so accomplished in the things pertaining to the goddess as I; but there are some of which you will not speak.  Is it so, O father?”