Pallas.
I snatched it from the burning palace. There is something strange at the bottom of it—something like an opal, with a violet flame in it.
Eros.
Alas! we have no great need of jewels here. This shining beech-leaf is the treasure you should wear, Pallas. See, a little bough of it, bent just above the white enamel of your forehead. It will be as green as a beryl to-day, and red like copper to-morrow, and perhaps you will need no third adornment.
Pallas.
There is something in the carven box which the shrieking oracle commended to me. "Take this," it said, "take this, and it will turn the blackness of exile into living light."
Eros.
Poor oracle, it became mad before it became dumb.
Pallas.