“Achilles,” said the King of Ithaca, “is worthy to be honoured by us, for he died gloriously for Hellas.  He demands that the daughter of Priam, the virgin Polyxena, should be immolated on his tomb.  Greeks! appease the manes of the hero, and let the son of Peleus rejoice in Hades.”

But the king of kings replied—­

“Spare the Trojan virgins we have torn from the altars.  Sufficient misfortunes have already fallen on the illustrious race of Priam.”

He spoke thus because he shared the couch of the sister of Polyxena, and the wise Ulysses reproached him for preferring the couch of Cassandra to the lance of Achilles.

The Greeks showed they shared the opinion of Ulysses, by loudly clashing their weapons.  The death of Polyxena was resolved on, and the appeased shade of Achilles vanished.  The music—­sometimes wild and sometimes plaintive—­followed the thoughts of the personages in the drama.  The spectators burst into applause.

Paphnutius, who applied divine truth to everything murmured—­

“This fable shows how cruel the worshippers of false gods were.”

“All religions breed crimes,” replied the Epicurean.  “Happily, a Greek, who was divinely wise, has freed men from foolish terrors of the unknown—­”

Just at that moment, Hecuba, her white hair dishevelled, her robe tattered, came out of the tent in which she was kept captive.  A long sigh went up from the audience, when her woeful figure appeared.  Hecuba had been warned by a prophetic dream, and lamented her daughter’s fate and her own.  Ulysses approached her, and asked her to give up Polyxena.  The old mother tore her hair, dug her nails into her cheeks, and kissed the hands of the cruel chieftain, who, with unpitying calmness, seemed to say—­

“Be wise, Hecuba, and yield to necessity.  There are amongst us many old mothers who weep for their children, now sleeping under the pines of Ida.”

And Hecuba, formerly queen of the most flourishing city in Asia, and now a slave, bowed her unhappy head in the dust.

Then the curtain in front of one of the tents was raised, and the virgin Polyxena appeared.  A tremor passed through all the spectators.  They had recognised Thais.  Paphnutius saw again the woman he had come to seek.  With her white arm she held above her head the heavy curtain.  Motionless as a splendid statue, she stood, with a look of pride and resignation in her violet eyes, and her resplendent beauty made a shudder of commiseration pass through all who beheld her.

A murmur of applause uprose, and Paphnutius, his soul agitated, and pressing both hands to his heart, sighed—­

“Why, O my God, hast thou given this power to one of Thy creatures?”

Dorion was not so disturbed.  He said—­