These opinions had troubled the matron, who understood men, and was the more disposed to credit them the more distinctly she perceived traces of discontent and instability in Hermon’s manner during the present meeting.

So it afforded her special pleasure to learn from Myrtilus his firm conviction that, in Arachne, Hermon would produce a masterpiece which could scarcely be excelled.

During this conversation Althea had come to Thyone’s side, and, as Hermon had already spoken to her of the Arachne, she eagerly expressed her belief that this work seemed as if it were specially created for him.

The Greek matron leaned back comfortably upon her cushions, her wrinkled, owl-like face assumed a cheerful expression, and, with the easy confidence conferred by aristocratic birth, a distinguished social position, and a light heart, she exclaimed:  “Lucifer is probably already behind yonder clouds, preparing to announce day, and this exquisite banquet ought to have a close worthy of it.  What do you say, you wonder-working darling of the Muses”—­she held out her hand to Althea as she spoke—­“to showing us and the two competing artists yonder the model of the Arachne they are to represent in gold and ivory?”

Althea fixed her eyes upon the ground, and, after a short period of reflection, answered hesitatingly:  “The task which you set before me is certainly no easy one, but I shall rely upon your indulgence.”

“She will!” cried the matron to the others.

Then, clapping her hands, she continued gaily, in the tone of the director of an entertainment issuing invitations to a performance:  “Your attention is requested!  In this city of weavers the noble Thracian, Althea, will depict before you all the weaver of weavers, Arachne, in person.”

“Take heed and follow my advice to sharpen your eyes,” added Philotas, who, conscious of his inferiority in intellect and talents to the men and women assembled here, took advantage of this opportunity to assert himself in a manner suited to his aristocratic birth.  “This artistic yet hapless Arachne, if any one, teaches the lesson how the lofty Olympians punish those who venture to place themselves on the same level; so let artists beware.  We stepchildren of the Muse can lull ourselves comfortably in the assurance of not giving the jealous gods the slightest cause for the doom which overtook the pitiable weaver.”

Not a word of this declaration of the Macedonian aristocrat escaped the listening Ledscha.  Scales seemed to fall from her eyes.  Hermon had won her love in order to use her for the model of his statue of Arachne, and, now that he had met Althea, who perhaps suited his purpose even better, he no longer needed the barbarian.  He had cast her aside like a tight shoe as soon as he found a more acceptable one in this female juggler.

The girl had already asked herself, with a slight thrill of horror, whether she had not prematurely called down so terrible a punishment upon her lover; now she rejoiced in her swift action.  If anything else remained for her to do, it was to make the vengeance with which she intended to requite him still more severe.