This foreign town within the Greek town was, for Chrysis, full of night and dangers. She was ill acquainted with the strange labyrinth, the intricacy of the streets, the secrets of certain houses. When, at rare intervals, she ventured to set foot in it, she always followed the same direct road towards a little red door; and there she forgot her usual lovers in the indefatigable arms of a young ass-driver with strong muscles, whom she had the joy of paying in her turn.
But this evening, she felt even without turning her head that she was being followed by a double footstep.
She increased her pace. The double footstep did likewise. She began to run; the footsteps behind her ran also; then beside herself with terror, she took another alley, and then another in the opposite direction, and then a long street which stretched away in an unknown direction.
With dry throat and swollen temples, but sustained by Bacchis’s wine, she pursued her flight, turned from right to left, pale, panic-stricken.
Finally, a wall blocked farther progress: she was in a blind alley. She tried hastily to double, but two sailors with brown hands barred the narrow passage.
“Where are you going to, my little wisp of gold?” said one of them laughing.
“Let me pass.”
“Eh? you are lost, young lady, you don’t know Rhacotis well, eh? We are going to show you the town.”
And they both took her by the waist. She shouted, and struggled, struck out with her fist, but the second sailor seized both her hands in his left hand and simply said:
“A little calm, please. You know that the Greeks are not loved here: nobody will come to your assistance.”