The drama neared its end.  Hecuba fell as though dead, and Polyxena, led by Ulysses, advanced towards the tomb, which was surrounded by the chief warriors.  A dirge was sung as she mounted the funeral pile, on the summit of which the son of Achilles poured out libations from a gold cup to the manes of the hero.  When the sacrificing priests stretched out their arms to seize her, she made a sign that she wished to die free and unbound, as befitted the daughter of so many kings.  Then, tearing aside her robe, she bared her bosom to the blow.  Pyrrhus, turning away his head, plunged his sword into her heart, and by a skilful trick, the blood gushed forth over the dazzling white breast of the virgin, who, with head thrown back, and her eyes swimming in the horrors of death, fell with grace and modesty.

Whilst the warriors enshrouded the victim with a veil, and covered her with lilies and anemones, terrified screams and groans rent the air, and Paphnutius, rising from his seat, prophesied in a loud voice.

“Gentiles? vile worshippers of demons!  And you Arians more infamous than the idolaters!—­learn!  That which you have just seen is an image and a symbol.  There is a mystic meaning in this fable, and very soon the woman you see there will be offered, a willing and happy sacrifice, to the risen God.”

But already the crowd was surging in dark waves towards the exits.  The Abbot of Antinoe, escaping from the astonished Dorion, gained the door, still prophesying.

An hour later he knocked at the door of the house of Thais.

The actress then lived in the rich Racotis quarter, near the tomb of Alexander, in a house surrounded by shady gardens, in which a brook, bordered with poplars, flowed amidst artificial rocks.  An old black slave woman, loaded with rings, opened the door, and asked what he wanted.

“I wish to see Thais,” he replied.  “God is my witness that I came here for no other purpose.”

As he wore a rich tunic, and spoke in an imperious manner, the slave allowed him to enter.

“You will find Thais,” she said, “in the Grotto of Nymphs.”

PART THE SECOND —­ THE PAPYRUS

Thais was born of free, but poor, parents, who were idolaters.  When she was a very little girl, her father kept, at Alexandria, near the Gate of the Moon, an inn, which was frequented by sailors.  She still retained some vivid, but disconnected, memories of her early youth.  She remembered her father, seated at the corner of the hearth with his legs crossed—­tall, formidable, and quiet, like one of those old Pharaohs who are celebrated in the ballads sung by blind men at the street corners.  She remembered also her thin, wretched mother, wandering like a hungry cat about the house, which she filled with the tones of her sharp voice, and the glitter of her phosphorescent eyes.  They said in the neighbourhood that she was a witch, and changed into an owl at night, and