She was sleeping with her cheek in one hand and with the other arm extended.  Her ringlets were spread about her in such abundance that she appeared to be lying on black feathers, and her ample white tunic wound in soft draperies to her feet following the curves of her person.  Her eyes were just visible beneath her half-closed eyelids.  The curtains, which stretched perpendicularly, enveloped her in a bluish atmosphere, and the motion of her breathing, communicating itself to the cords, seemed to rock her in the air.  A long mosquito was buzzing.

Matho stood motionless holding the silver lamp at arm’s length; but on a sudden the mosquito-net caught fire and disappeared, and Salammbo awoke.

The fire had gone out of itself.  She did not speak.  The lamp caused great luminous moires to flicker on the wainscots.

“What is it?” she said.

He replied: 

“’Tis the veil of the goddess!”

“The veil of the goddess!” cried Salammbo, and supporting herself on both clenched hands she leaned shuddering out.  He resumed: 

“I have been in the depths of the sanctuary to seek it for you!  Look!” The Zaimph shone a mass of rays.

“Do you remember it?” said Matho.  “You appeared at night in my dreams, but I did not guess the mute command of your eyes!” She put out one foot upon the ebony stool.  “Had I understood I should have hastened hither, I should have forsaken the army, I should not have left Carthage.  To obey you I would go down through the caverns of Hadrumetum into the kingdom of the shades!—­Forgive me! it was as though mountains were weighing upon my days; and yet something drew me on!  I tried to come to you!  Should I ever have dared this without the Gods!—­Let us go!  You must follow me! or, if you do not wish to do so, I will remain.  What matters it to me!—­Drown my soul in your breath!  Let my lips be crushed with kissing your hands!”

“Let me see it!” she said.  “Nearer! nearer!”

Day was breaking, and the sheets of talc in the walls were filled with a vinous colour.  Salammbo leaned fainting against the cushions of the bed.

“I love you!” cried Matho.

“Give it!” she stammered out, and they drew closer together.

She kept advancing, clothed in her white trailing simar, and with her large eyes fastened on the veil.  Matho gazed at her, dazzled by the splendours of her head, and, holding out the zaimph towards her, was about to enfold her in an embrace.  She was stretching out her arms.  Suddenly she stopped, and they stood looking at each other, open-mouthed.

Then without understanding the meaning of his solicitation a horror seized upon her.  Her delicate eyebrows rose, her lips opened; she trembled.  At last she struck one of the brass pateras which hung at the corners of the red mattress, crying: 

“To the rescue! to the rescue!  Back, sacrilegious man! infamous and accursed!  Help, Taanach, Kroum, Ewa, Micipsa, Schaoul!”