s hovering
before their imaginations, through the dimness of the theogonies, like
phantoms wrapped in cloud.

Only the beardless priests understood Salammbo; their wrinkled hands,
which hung over the strings of their lyres, quivered, and from time
to time they would draw forth a mournful chord; for, feebler than old
women, they trembled at once with mystic emotion, and with the
fear inspired by men. The Barbarians heeded them not, but listened
continually to the maiden's song.

None gazed at her like a young Numidian chief, who was placed at
the captains' tables among soldiers of his own nation. His girdle so
bristled with darts that it formed a swelling in his ample cloak,
which was fastened on his temples with a leather lace. The cloth parted
asunder as it fell upon his shoulders, and enveloped his countenance in
shadow, so that only the fires of his two fixed eyes could be seen. It
was by chance that he was at the feast, his father having domiciled him
with the Barca family, according to the custom by which kings used to
send their children into the households of the great in order to pave
the way for alliances; but Narr' Havas had lodged there fox six months
without having hitherto seen Salammbo, and now, seated on his heels,
with his head brushing the handles of his javelins, he was watching her
with dilated nostrils, like a leopard crouching among the bamboos.

On the other side of the tables was a Libyan of colossal stature, and
with short black curly hair. He had retained only his military jacket,
the brass plates of which were tearing the purple of the couch. A
necklace of silver moons was tangled in his hairy breast. His face was
stained with splashes of blood; he was leaning on his left elbow with a
smile on his large, open mouth.

Salammbo had abandoned the sacred rhythm. With a woman's subtlety she
was simultaneously employing all the dialects of the Barbarians in order
to appease their anger. To the Greeks she spoke Greek; then she turned
to the Ligurians, the Campanians, the Negroes, and listening to her each
one found again in her voice the sweetness of his native land. She now,
carried away by the memories of Carthage, sang of the ancient battles
against Rome; they applauded. She kindled at the gleaming of the naked
swords, and cried aloud with outstretched arms. Her lyre fell, she was
silent; and, pressing both hands upon her heart, she remained for some
minutes with closed eyelids enjoying the agi