Myrtocleia took the dead arm and laid it flat along the hip. She tried also to pull out the left leg; but the knee was almost rigid, and she did not succeed in pulling it out completely.
“Rhodis,” she said, in a troubled voice, “come; you can enter now.”
The trembling child penetrated into the chamber. Her features contracted, her eyes opened wide.
As soon as they felt that there were two of them, they fell into one another’s arms and burst into long-drawn sobs.
“Poor Chrysis! Poor Chrysis!” repeated the child.
They kissed one another on the cheek with a desperate affection from which all sensuality had disappeared and the taste of the tears upon their lips filled their forlorn little souls with bitterness.
They wept, and wailed, they looked at one another other with anguish, and sometimes they spoke both together in a hoarse voice of agony, and their words ended in sobs.
“How we loved her! She was not a friend for us. She was a little mother for both of us . . .”
Rhodis repeated:
“Like a little mother . . .”