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Updated: May 14, 2025
She could do the work here as well as anywhere else, and told herself that it was all the same to her whether Phaon or her father's linen lay there. But her heart belied these reflections, for it throbbed so violently that it ached. And why would not her fingers move; why could her eyes scarcely distinguish the red roses from the yellow ones?
"Mopsus is a bold, good-for-nothing fellow, whom I've often wanted to drive out of the house, but I should like to see the person who refused me obedience. As for your proposal, you have now heard distinctly enough that our girl is intended for Leonax." "But suppose Xanthe doesn't want Leonax, and prefers Phaon to the stranger?"
"I hold you to your promise!" exclaimed Jason. "Your sucking-pig has just been offered to Aphrodite. The priest gladly accepted it and slaughtered it before my eyes, imploring the goddess with me, to fill Xanthe's heart with love for Phaon."
I know you well enough, and Leonax, Alciphron's son, not your sleepy Phaon, whom people say is roaming about when he ought to be resting quietly in the house, shall have our girl for his wife. It's not I who say so, but Lysander, my lord and master." "Your will is his," replied Jason.
Semestre laughed scornfully, and, striking the hard stone floor with her myrtle-staff, exclaimed: "My spit is enough, and perhaps Eros is helping it with his arrows, for Xanthe no longer asks for your Phaon, any more than I fretted for a person now standing before me when he was young. Eros loves harder work.
"Nothing, Jason, nothing at all; that is, just as much as Xanthe feels for Phaon. But what's that noise outside the door?" The house-keeper was still talking, when one of the folding doors opened a little, and Dorippe called through the crack: "May we come in? Here's a messenger from Protarch." "Admit him," cried Semestre, eagerly.
This is no place for brawls." Phaon staggered a step or two out into the dark, then reeled and fell heavily upon the dirty pavement. Agias prodded him with his foot, but he was quite insensible. For the present he was harmless enough. "My good host," said Agias, to the disquieted landlord, "I did not ask you to give us an unmixed wine and those dice for no purpose.
In the mean time, Phaon went on with his work, and soon succeeded in making a hole in the wall sufficient for his purpose, and then the men dragged Nero through. They brought him into the house, and shut him up in a small and secret apartment there.
"Nothing, Jason, nothing at all; that is, just as much as Xanthe feels for Phaon. But what's that noise outside the door?" The house-keeper was still talking, when one of the folding doors opened a little, and Dorippe called through the crack: "May we come in? Here's a messenger from Protarch." "Admit him," cried Semestre, eagerly.
Phaon was standing by the other pillar, his eyes covered with his right hand. Never before or since had she seen him look so sad, and it cut her to the heart when she noticed that he trembled as if a chill had seized him, and, drawing a long breath, pushed back the hair, which like a coalblack curtain, covered half his forehead. She had wept bitterly, but he shed no tears.
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