, who had been rolled out on the floor, it completely
covered and hid me. Then I perceived that certain emotions can be
excited by exactly opposite causes; for as tears often come from joy,
so, in spite of my terror, I could not help laughing to see myself
turned from Aristomenes into a tortoise. As I lay on the floor,
completely covered by the bed, and peeping out to see what was the
matter, I saw two old women, one carrying a lighted lamp and the other a
sponge and a drawn sword, plant themselves on either side of Socrates,
who was fast asleep.

The one with the sword said to the other:--"This, sister Panthea, is my
dear Endymion, my Ganymede, who by day and by night has laughed my youth
to scorn. This is he who, despising my passion, not only defames me with
abusive language, but is preparing also for flight; and I forsooth,
deserted through the craft of this Ulysses, like another Calypso, am to
be left to lament in eternal loneliness!"

Then extending her right hand, and pointing me out to her friend
Panthea:--

"And there," said she, "is his worthy counselor, Aristomenes, who was
the planner of this flight, and who now, half dead, is lying flat on the
ground under the bedstead and looking at all that is going on, while he
fancies that he is to tell scandalous stories of me with impunity. I'll
take care, however, that some day, aye, and before long, too,--this very
instant, in fact,--he shall repent of his recent chatter and his present
curiosity."

On hearing this I felt myself streaming with cold perspiration, and my
heart began to throb so violently that even the bedstead danced on
my back.

"Well, sister," said the worthy Panthea, "shall we hack him to pieces at
once, like the Bacchanals, or tie his limbs and mutilate him?"

To this Meroe replied,--and I saw from what was happening, as well as
from what Socrates had told, how well the name fitted her,--"Rather let
him live, if only to cover the body of this wretched creature with a
little earth."

Then, moving Socrates's head to one side, she plunged the sword into his
throat up to the hilt, catching the blood in a small leathern bottle so
carefully that not a drop of it was to be seen. All this I saw with my
own eyes. The worthy Meroe--in order, I suppose, not to omit any due
observance in the sacrifice of the victim--then thrust her right hand
through the wound, and drew forth the heart of my unhappy companion. His
windpipe being severed, he emitted a