Antony, at the foot of the cross, murmurs prayers. Damis continues to run around him with wheedling gestures.
"See, worthy hermit, dear Saint Antony! pure man, illustrious man! man who cannot be sufficiently praised! Do not be alarmed; this is an exaggerated style of speaking, borrowed from the Orientals. It in no way prevents—"
Apollonius—"Let him alone, Damis! He believes, like a brute, in the reality of things. The fear which he has of the gods prevents him from comprehending them; and he eats his own words, just like a jealous king! But you, my son, quit me not!"
He steps back to the verge of the cliffs, passes over it and remains there, hanging in mid-air:
"Above all forms, farther than the earth, beyond the skies, dwells the World of Ideas, entirely filled with the Word. With one bound we leap across Space, and you shall grasp in its infinity the Eternal, the Absolute Being! Come! give me your hand. Let us go!"
The pair, side by side, rise softly into the air.
Antony, embracing the cross, watches them ascending.
