The little virgins resumed their load
“I cannot carry her any longer, Myrto. I shall fall down on my knees, I am broken with fatigue and grief.”
Myrtocleia took her by the neck:
“Try again, my darling. We must carry her. Her nether life is at stake. If she has no sepulture and no obol in her hand, she will roam eternally on the banks of the river of hell, and when we in our turn, Rhodis, go down to the dead, she will reproach us with our impiety, and we shall not know what to answer her.”
But the child, overcome with weakness, burst into tears.
“Quickly, quickly!” exclaimed Myrtocleia.
“Somebody is coming along the end of the street. Place yourself in front of the body with me. Let us hide it behind our tunics . . . If it is seen, all is lost . . .”
She stooped short.
“It is Timon. I recognise him. Timon with four women. Ah, gods! what is going to happen? He laughs at everything and will mock us . . . But no, stay here, Rhodis; I will speak to him.”
And, inspired by a sudden thought, she ran down the street to meet the little group.