foot of the Sphinx, and nestled to his heart.
“Eros,” she murmured, “I suffer. I pine. I weep. I gave away all that I had. I have nothing more than my grief. Can grief . . . . be happiness in the Present?”
He smiled.
“From grief . . . . comes happiness,” he answered. “From grief will come happiness, not in the Present, but . . . . in the Future!”
She looked at him inquiringly.
“What is that?” she asked. “Future . . .! It is a very sweet word. . . . I do not know what it is, but I have heard it before. . . . Father sometimes spoke of it with an affected voice. . . . It seems to be something far away, far, far away. . . . From grief will come . . . . in the Future . . . . happiness!
“Far behind me lies the Past. . . . Then I was a child. Now I am a woman. . . . A woman. . . . Now I am, Eros, a woman, a woman, who has wept and suffered, and asked of the silent Sphinx. . . . Now I am no longer a princess, but a woman, a queen . . . . of the Present . . . .!”
She fell against his shoulder and fainted. He gave a sign, and out of the air flew a
