teps around
the muffled figure, toward which all eyes were now directed with eager
curiosity.

Then Thrasabad, still clasping Glauke, sprang from the drinking table
to the altar. The Ionian had just taken a freshly filled goblet from
his hand. The roars of applause which now burst forth fairly turned the
vain youth's head; he staggered visibly as he stood on the highest
step, dragging the struggling girl with him. "Look, brother," he called
in an unsteady voice; "this is _my_ wedding gift. In the senator's
villa at Cirta--what is his name? He was burned because he clung
obstinately to the Catholic faith. Never mind. I bought the villa from
the fiscus; it stands on the foundations of a very ancient one, adorned
with imperial splendor, superb mosaics, hunting scenes, with stags,
hounds, noble horses, beautiful women under palm-trees! In repairing
the cellar this statue was dug out from beneath broken columns; it is
said to be more than five hundred years old,--a gem of the best period
of Greek art. So my freedman says, who understands such things, an
Aphrodite. Show yourself, Queen of Paphos! I give her to you, brother."

He seized a broad-bladed knife which lay on the pedestal, cut a cord,
and dropped the knife again. The covers fell; a wonderfully beautiful
Aphrodite, nobly modelled in white marble, appeared.

The Loves knelt around the feet of the goddess, and twined garlands of
flowers about her knees. At the same moment a dazzling white light fell
from above upon the altar and the goddess, brilliantly irradiating the
arena, which was usually not too brightly illumined by lamps.

The acclamation of thousands of voices burst forth still more
tumultuously, the dancers whirled in swifter circles, the drums and
cymbals crashed louder than ever; but the sudden increase of uproar and
the vivid, dazzling light also reached the open grating of the tiger's
cage. He uttered a terrible roar and sprang with a mighty leap against
the bars, one of which fell noiselessly out on the soft sand. No one
noticed it, for another scene was taking place around the goddess on
the high steps of the altar.

"I thank you, brother," cried Thrasaric. "She is indeed the fairest
woman that can be imagined."

"Yes," replied Modigisel. "What do you mean, Astarte? Are you sneering?
What fault can you find there?"

"That is no woman," said the Carthaginian, icily, scarcely parting her
lips; "that is only a stone. Go there, kiss it, if it seems