This water must be brought by a virgin, and a young neighbor, Coronis, the daughter of a rich basket-maker, who from childhood had been Clytie’s friend and looked up to her with admiration, had gone with her slaves to the fountain to fetch the water.
As she entered, a breath of gayety and life seemed to come into the silent room. Coronis was a merry little maid, with a childish face, whose dark eyes, lips, cheeks, dimples—all laughed. She was dressed entirely in white, and carried the laurel branch used for purification. This she instantly put down by the door, as if to say: “Stay there, you useless, solemn thing.”
She had so much to tell that she scarcely took time to greet Clytie and her mother. She had met at the fountain two other bride-maids; they had talked together, and Coronis therefore knew all about the weddings which were to take place the next day; she knew the fathers, mothers, brides, and bridegrooms, and had a great deal to say about the marriage garments, bridesmen, and nuptial banquets.
When her story was ended, preparations were made for a ceremony which the art of those days has represented upon many a vase.
Doris placed a bath-tub shaped like a mussel-shell in the middle of the floor, and set the full hydria beside it. Then, kneeling before her mistress, she loosed her girdle and unfastened the clasps on her shoulders. Two slight pulls were sufficient to make the garments fall around the hips, and from a cloud of white folds appeared the whole upper portion of the maiden’s slender form, whose fairness, seen against the brown wall, became doubly dazzling and seemed created to ensnare both eyes and hearts.
Now began the familiar talk that always takes place among women on such occasions.
“How beautiful you are, dear!” exclaimed little Coronis, pressing a light kiss on her friend’s shoulder. “What a complexion—what is the finest Syrian stuff compared with its smoothness!”
“Yes,” said the middle-aged nurse, with as much self-satisfaction as though she considered Clytie her own work, “I know that even Leda’s bosom was not more beautiful, ... no breast-band is needed here.”
Doris glanced with a smile at Coronis and the nurse.
“What you praise deserves the highest compliments,” she said, “but it is not what I value most.” With a look of earnest affection she knelt before Clytie, took her hand, and kissed it. “What I value most is my beautiful mistress’ goodness. I have served her daily ever since she was a little child—and never in that long time has she uttered a single unkind word.”