“Timon,” she said, and her voice was full of supplication; “Timon, stop. I have grave words to utter to you alone.”
“My poor little thing,” said the young man, “how excited you are! Have you lost your shoulder-knot or have you dropped your doll and broken its nose? This would be an irreparable disaster.”
The girl threw him a look of anguish; but the four women, Philotis, Seso of Cnidos, Callistion, and Tryphera, were already clamouring round her with impatience.
“Get away, little idiot!” said Tryphera, “if you have dried up your nurse’s teats, we cannot help it, we have no milk. It is almost daylight, you ought to be in bed; what business have children to roam about in the moonlight?”
“Her nurse?” said Philotis. “She wants to steal away Timon.”
“The whip! She deserves the whip!” said Callistion, who put one arm round Myrto’s waist, lifting her off the ground and raising her little blue tunic, But Seso interposed:
“You are mad,” she cried. “Myrto has never known a man. If she calls Timon, it is not to sleep with him. Let her alone, and let us have done with it!”
“Come,” said Timon, “what do you want with me? Come here. Whisper in my ear. Is it really serious?”
“The body of Chrysis is there, in the street,” said the young girl tremblingly. “We are carrying into the cemetary, my little friend and I, but it is heavy, and we ask you if you will help us. It will not take long. Immediately afterwards you can rejoin your women . . .”
Timon’s look reassured her.