s of these monsters, and were
broken on the stones, a deep groan was heard.

At that moment Thais appeared, her hair unloosed and streaming over her
shoulders, barefooted, and clad in a clumsy coarse garment which seemed
redolent with divine voluptuousness merely from having touched her body.
Behind her came a gardener, carrying, half hidden in his long beard, an
ivory Eros.

She made a sign to the man to stop, and approaching Paphnutius, showed
him the little god.

"My father," she asked, "should this also be thrown into the flames? It
is of marvellous antique work, and is worth a hundred times its weight
in gold. Its loss would be irreparable, for there is not a sculptor in
the world capable of making such a beautiful Eros. Remember also, my
father, that this child is Love, and he should not be harshly treated.
Believe me, Love is a virtue, and if I have sinned, it is not through
him, my father, but against him. Never shall I regret aught that he has
caused me to do, and I deplore only those things I have done contrary to
his commands. He does not allow women to give themselves to those who
do not come in his name. For that reason he ought to be honoured. Look,
Paphnutius, how pretty this little Eros is! With what grace he hides
himself in the gardener's beard! One day Nicias, who loved me then,
brought it to me and said, 'It will remind you of me.' But the roguish
boy did not remind me of Nicias, but of a young man I knew at Antioch.
Enough riches have been destroyed upon this pile, my father! Preserve
this Eros, and place it in some monastery. Those who see it will
turn their hearts towards God, for love leads naturally to heavenly
thoughts."

The gardener, already believing that the little Eros was saved, smiled
on it as though it had been a child, when Paphnutius, snatching the god
from the arms which held it, threw it into the flames, crying--

"It is enough that Nicias has touched it to make it replete with every
sort of poison!"

Then, seizing by armfuls the sparkling robes, the purple mantles, the
golden sandals, the combs, strigils, mirrors, lamps, theorbos, and
lyres, he threw them into this furnace, more costly than the funeral
pile of Sardanapalus, whilst, drunken with the rage of destruction, the
slaves danced round, uttering wild yells amid a shower of sparks and
ashes.

One by one, the neighbours, awakened by the noise, opened the windows,
and rubbing their eyes, looked out to see whence the sm