Withdrawing from the front balcony of the Vanno palace, where, shielded
from the sun, she had sat and watched the procession pass by, AEnone, the
young and fair wife of the conqueror, now sought rest and retirement in
an inner apartment. Thither one of her women had preceded her, and had
drawn forward a cushioned lounge, had beaten up the silken pillows, had
placed a table near at hand, with a light repast spread upon it, had
trimmed and filled with fresh olive oil the large bronze lamp which
swung from the ceiling, and now stood by awaiting further orders.
Throwing herself upon the lounge, AEnone covered her face with her hands.
What unbidden thought was it that came creeping into her heart to
trouble her? Why was it that something of the bright joyousness of
spirit with which she looked forward to that day had vanished? Surely
nothing had occurred which of itself could bring to her either sorrow or
repining. All things had happened as she had anticipated. She had seen
her honored lord pass by with the myrtle wreath upon his brow, his most
worthy officers at his side, and his bravest guards around him. She had
seen that he was strong and without wound, as he had departed from her.
She had heard the shouts of applause which had welcomed his approach as
though he were a god; and, with her heart generously and unselfishly
alive only to his honor, and unable to realize that all this frantic joy
and adulation were not the passion of the nation's life, but were merely
one single, careless throb of its fevered pulse, she had rejoiced with
him, believing that he had indeed done what had made him the greatest of
all living men.
Pages:
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117