She was in despair of having seen the zaimph, and yet she felt a sort
of joy, an intimate pride at having done so. A mystery shrank within the
splendour of its folds; it was the cloud that enveloped the gods, and
the secret of the universal existence, and Salammbo, horror-stricken at
herself, regretted that she had not raised it.
She was almost always crouching at the back of her apartment, holding
her bended left leg in her hands, her mouth half open, her chin sunk,
her eye fixed. She recollected her father's face with terror; she wished
to go away into the mountains of Phoenicia, on a pilgrimage to the
temple of Aphaka, where Tanith descended in the form of a star; all
kinds of imaginings attracted her and terrified her; moreover, a
solitude which every day became greater encompassed her. She did not
even know what Hamilcar was about.
Wearied at last with her thoughts she would rise, and trailing along
her little sandals whose soles clacked upon her heels at every step, she
would walk at random through the large silent room. The amethysts and
topazes of the ceiling made luminous spots quiver here and there, and
Salammbo as she walked would turn her head a little to see them. She
would go and take the hanging amphoras by the neck; she would cool
her bosom beneath the broad fans, or perhaps amuse herself by burning
cinnamomum in hollow pearls.
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