Zopyrus stood with arms folded, his noble head, perfect stature and dignified bearing appearing most incongruous with the exomis he wore. From across his folded arms he looked straight at the mortal Dionysus, till the latter, feeling his impelling gaze, looked up and flushed guiltily, though the man who surveyed him so coldly was to him a total stranger. Zopyrus walked to the throne, thrust the false Dionysus rudely aside, seized the amazed Persephone in his arms and tried to force his way through the crowd with her, but the indignant remonstrances of the crowd made futile his efforts.
“Down with him for violating the privileges of the god!” cried one.
This outburst was followed with vociferous cries of, “Take Ariadne from him!” “Throw him out!” “Beat him!”
By this time Ephialtes had recovered his composure. The appearance of the stranger had inexplicably discomposed him and the attack had roused his ire, but now conscious of his costly garb in contrast to his assailant’s attire, he stood before the throne and in imperious tones demanded the return of Ariadne, as he called her.
Zopyrus released the girl from his embrace and asked: “Do you wish to return to Pluto?”
For answer she stepped closely to Zopyrus’ side and clung tenaciously to his arm. He gazed long into the depths of eyes that matched the blue of her gown and the sapphires upon her brow. The color mounted to her temples, and as she bowed her head he noticed that the rosy flush likewise suffused her neck and shoulders which were partially visible through the golden strands of loosened hair.
Ephialtes was infuriated by Persephone’s refusal to return to him, and was nonplussed as to what method he had best employ to obtain the maiden, when there flashed through his mind the words of a sentence: “On the day that you deliver to Greece the traitor of Thermopylæ, I will become your wife.”
Straightening himself to his full height Ephialtes commanded the attention of the audience.
“I am about to make a revelation that will return Ariadne to me, I believe,” he said smiling with arrogant confidence. “The man to whom Ariadne clings and is no doubt one of our oarsmen, is no other than he who betrayed your country to the Persians before the battle of Thermopylæ. Greece has long sought him fellow countrymen, and yonder he stands, defiling with his touch the maiden who plays the part of Persephone at the Mysteries of Eleusis. What will you do with him?”
“Kill him!” came the cry from hundreds of throats, and with one accord the angry mob rushed toward Zopyrus.