“Certainly the atoms, which have momentarily met together to form this woman, present a combination which is agreeable to the eye.  But that is but a freak of nature, and the atoms know not what they do.  They will some day separate with the same indifference as they came together.  Where are now the atoms which formed Lais or Cleopatra?  I must confess that women are sometimes beautiful.  But they are liable to grievous afflictions, and disgusting inconveniences.  That is patent to all thinking men, though the vulgar pay no attention to it.  And women inspire love, though it is absurd and ridiculous to love them.”

Such were the thoughts of the philosopher and the ascetic as they gazed on Thais.  They neither of them noticed Hecuba, who turned to her daughter, and seemed to say by her gestures—­

“Try to soften the cruel Ulysses.  Employ your tears, your beauty, and your youth.”

Thais—­or rather Polyxena herself—­let fall the curtain of the tent.  She made a step forward, and all hearts were conquered.  And when, with firm but light steps, she advanced towards Ulysses, her rhythmic movements, which were accompanied by the sound of flutes, created in all present such happy visions, that it seemed as though she were the divine centre of all the harmonies of the world.  All eyes were bent on her; the other actors were obscured by her effulgence, and were not noticed.  The play continued, however.

The prudent son of Laertes turned away his head, and hid his hand under his mantle, in order to avoid the looks and kisses of the suppliant.  The virgin made a sign to him to fear nothing.  Her tranquil gaze said—­

“I follow you, Ulysses, and bow to necessity—­because I wish to die.  Daughter of Priam, and sister of Hector, my couch, which was once worthy of Kings, shall never receive a foreign master.  Freely do I quit the light of day.”

Hecuba, lying motionless in the dust, suddenly rose and enfolded her daughter in a last despairing embrace.  Polyxena gently, but resolutely, removed the old arms which held her.  She seemed to say—­

“Do not expose yourself, mother, to the fury of your master.  Do not wait until he drags you ignominiously on the ground in tearing me from your arms.  Better, O well-beloved mother, to give me your wrinkled hand, and bend your hollow cheeks to my lips.”

The face of Thais looked beautiful in its grief.  The crowd felt grateful to her for showing them the forms and passions of life endowed with superhuman grace, and Paphnutius pardoned her present splendour on account of her coming humility, and glorified himself in advance for the saint he was about to give to heaven.