tent. She
made a step forward, and all hearts were conquered. And when, with firm
but light steps, she advanced towards Ulysses, her rhythmic movements,
which were accompanied by the sound of flutes, created in all present
such happy visions, that it seemed as though she were the divine centre
of all the harmonies of the world. All eyes were bent on her; the other
actors were obscured by her effulgence, and were not noticed. The play
continued, however.

The prudent son of Laertes turned away his head, and hid his hand under
his mantle, in order to avoid the looks and kisses of the suppliant. The
virgin made a sign to him to fear nothing. Her tranquil gaze said--

"I follow you, Ulysses, and bow to necessity--because I wish to die.
Daughter of Priam, and sister of Hector, my couch, which was once worthy
of Kings, shall never receive a foreign master. Freely do I quit the
light of day."

Hecuba, lying motionless in the dust, suddenly rose and enfolded her
daughter in a last despairing embrace. Polyxena gently, but resolutely,
removed the old arms which held her. She seemed to say--

"Do not expose yourself, mother, to the fury of your master. Do not wait
until he drags you ignominiously on the ground in tearing me from your
arms. Better, O well-beloved mother, to give me your wrinkled hand, and
bend your hollow cheeks to my lips."

The face of Thais looked beautiful in its grief. The crowd felt grateful
to her for showing them the forms and passions of life endowed with
superhuman grace, and Paphnutius pardoned her present splendour on
account of her coming humility, and glorified himself in advance for the
saint he was about to give to heaven.

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 w