A black-robed woman appeared in the doorway; she wore a veil in order to hide the fact that her hair was cut off; she had a garland in her hand, and a slave followed her with a torch.
She did not immediately notice Aspasia’s presence, greeted her former husband with a glance, and laid the garland at the dead boy’s feet. “I only bring a funeral garland for my son,” she said, “but instead of the obol, he shall take a kiss from the lips of his mother.”
She threw herself on the dead child, and kissed him.
“Beware of the dead!” said Pericles, and seized her arm; “he died of the pestilence.”
“My life has been a lingering death; a quick one is preferable to me.”
Then she noticed Aspasia, and, rising, said with quiet dignity, “Tell your friend to go.”
“She goes, and I follow her.”
“That is right! For now, my Pericles, the last tie between us is dissolved! Farewell!”
“Farewell, my wife!”
And, turning to Aspasia, he said, “Give me your hand, my spouse.”