“Here you will model Andromeda and Zagreus and the Horses of the Sun. As you will create them for yourself alone, you will break them in pieces before your death.”
“It is the House of Felicity,” says Demetrios in a low voice.
And he lets his forehead sink into his hands.
But Chrysis opens another door.
The third chamber is vast and round. It is lighted by a single window, through which is seen enframed the great expanse of blue sky. Its walls consist of gratings of bronze bars so disposed as to form lozenge-shaped interstices. Through them glides a music of flutes and pipes played to a doleful measure by invisible musicians. And against the far wall, upon a throne of green marble, sits a naked girl who utters no word.
“Come! Come!” repeats Chrysis.
They open another door.
The fourth chamber is low, sombre, hermetically closed, and triangular. Thick carpets and rugs array it so luxuriously from floor to roof that nudity is not astonished in it. Lovers can easily imagine that they have cast off their garments upon the walls in all directions. When the door is closed again, it is impossible to guess where it was. There is no window. It is a narrow world, outside the world. A few wisps of black hair hanging to the cushions shed tear-drops of perfumes. And this chamber is lighted by seven little myrrhine panes which colour diversely the incomprehensible light of seven subterranean lamps.
“See,” explains the woman in an affectionate and tranquil tone, “there are three different beds in the three corners of our chamber.”