s though I had the sun in my house, and
prevented it from illuminating the world. And when I think of those
harmonious lines, those divine contours which I dare scarcely touch with
a timid kiss, I feel my heart ready to burst; I wish that some friendly
eye could share my happiness and, like a severe judge to whom a picture
is shown, recognise after careful examination that it is irreproachable,
and that the possessor has not been deceived by his enthusiasm. Yes,
often do I feel myself tempted to tear off with rash hand those odious
tissues, but Nyssia, in her fierce chastity, would never forgive me. And
still I cannot alone endure such felicity. I must have a confidant for
my ecstasies, an echo which will answer my cries of admiration, and it
shall be none other than you.'

Having uttered these words, Candaules brusquely turned and disappeared
through a secret passage. Gyges, left thus alone, could not avoid
noticing the peculiar concourse of events which seemed to place him
always in Nyssia's path. A chance had enabled him to behold her beauty,
though walled up from all other eyes. Among many princes and satraps she
had chosen to espouse Candaules, the very king he served; and through
some strange caprice, which he could only regard as fateful, this king
had just made him, Gyges, his confidant in regard to the mysterious
creature whom none else had approached, and absolutely sought to
complete the work of Boreas on the plain of Bactria! Was not the hand
of the gods visible in all these circumstances? That spectre of beauty,
whose veil seemed to be lifted slowly, a little at a time, as though to
enkindle a flame within him, was it not leading him, without his having
suspected it, toward the accomplishment of some mighty destiny? Such
were the questions which Gyges asked himself, but being unable to
penetrate the obscurity of the future, he resolved to await the course
of events, and left the Court of Images, where the twilight darkness
was commencing to pile itself up in all the angles, and to render
the effigies of the ancestors of Candaules yet more and more weirdly
menacing.

Was it a mere effort of light, or was it rather an illusion produced by
that vague uneasiness with which the boldest hearts are filled by the
approach of night amid ancient monuments? As he stepped across the
threshold Gyges fancied that he heard deep groans issue from the stone
lips of the bas-reliefs, and it seemed to him that Heracles was ma