She turned from him and would have hurried back into the Greek's
andronitis, but he put himself in her way.
"Listen!" he said, suddenly lifting his hand.
In the stillness which she finally was able to observe over the
tumultuous beating of her enraged heart, a profound moan of great
volume as from immense but remote struggle came into the corridor.
Through it at times cut a sharp accession of sound, as if violence
heightened at intervals, and steadily over it pulsated the throb of
tireless siege-engines. It was the groan of the City of Delight in
mortal anguish.
"This," he said in a soft voice touching his breast, "or that,"
motioning toward the dying city. "Choose. And by midnight!"
While she stood, gazing at him transfixed with the horror of her
predicament, there was the sweeping of garments, the soft tinkle of
pendants as they struck together, and Salome, the actress, was beside
the pair. Close at hand was Amaryllis. The Greek showed for the first
time discomfiture and an inability to rise to the demand of the
occasion. The glance she shot at Laodice was full of cold anger that
she had permitted herself to be surprised in company with
Philadelphus.
Philadelphus drew back a step, but made no further movement toward
withdrawing. Laodice would have retreated, but the actress stood in
her way. With a motion full of stately indignation, Salome turned to
Amaryllis.
"It so occurs, madam, that I can point out to you the disease which
saps my husband's ambition. You observe that he is diverted now, as
all men are diverted six weeks after marriage--by another woman. I am
not a jealous woman. I am only concerned for his welfare and the
welfare of the city of our fathers. For it is not himself that his
luxurious indolence affects; but all the unhappy city which is
suffering while he is able to help it. He must be saved. And I shall
go with him out of this house into want and peril, but he shall be
saved."
Laodice said nothing. She stood drawn up intensely; her brows knitted;
her teeth on her lip; her insulted pride and growing resolution
effecting a certain magnificence in her pose.
"I can find her another house," Amaryllis said.
"Also my husband can find it," the woman broke in. "Let the streets do
their will with the woman of the streets. Bread and shelter are too
precious to waste on the iniquitous this hour."
Amaryllis turned to Laodice.
"What wilt thou do?" she asked.
"The streets can offer me no more insult than is offered me in this
house," she said slowly.
It was in her mind that there were certainly unprotected gates at
which she could get out of the city and return to Ascalon.
At least the peril for her in this house was already too imminent for
her to remain longer. She continued to Amaryllis: "Lady, you have been kind to me--in your way. You have been so in the
face of your doubt that I am what I claim to be. How happy, then, you
would have made my lot had I not been supplanted and denied! For all
this I thank you. Mine would be a poor gratitude if I stay to make you
regret your generosity. Wherefore I will go."