The recollection of Matho came upon her, nor did
she resist the desire to learn what had become of him.
Narr' Havas replied that the Carthaginians were advancing towards Tunis
to take it. In proportion as he set forth their chances of success and
Matho's weaknesses, she seemed to rejoice in extraordinary hope. Her
lips trembled, her breast panted. When he finally promised to kill him
himself, she exclaimed: "Yes! kill him! It must be so!"
The Numidian replied that he desired this death ardently, since he would
be her husband when the war was over.
Salammbo started, and bent her head.
But Narr' Havas, pursuing the subject, compared his longings to flowers
languishing for rain, or to lost travellers waiting for the day. He told
her, further, that she was more beautiful than the moon, better than the
wind of morning or than the face of a guest. He would bring for her from
the country of the Blacks things such as there were none in Carthage,
and the apartments in their house should be sanded with gold dust.
Evening fell, and odours of balsam were exhaled. For a long time they
looked at each other in silence, and Salammbo's eyes, in the depths of
her long draperies, resembled two stars in the rift of a cloud. Before
the sun set he withdrew.
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