There, where the metropolis of the Babylonians rose on the bank of the Euphrates, surging along in the serenity of its majestic surge, there crouched a temple — to Venus — to which strangers made pilgrimage on one particular day of every year, to perform on its evening the rites of worship after their abominable fashion...

The temple candles were nearly spent, having burned since the beginning of night; the darkness was about to lift before the lights of dawn, and the religious ceremony had not yet begun. The women stood humbly before the goddess in two long facing rows, obscure lights flashing in their eyes at one moment, thick darknesses veiling their sight at others...

And the men were scattered there in half-circles, filling the corners, their faces grim, anger having taken full hold of them; they were seized by a fit of rancor against "Lula," the Babylonian girl with the wide dark eyes and the abundant hair and the stately mien — who had not yet come, though she ought to have come before everyone, because she was the ward of the high priest, because she was pious of heart and noble of nature, and because... her tender youth was the target of all eyes and hearts.

One of them said: Coquetry has some part in Lula's lateness.

Another muttered: No — behind this second absence I see some grave matter.

And another said: What harm is it to us if this fool of a girl is not present in the temple, when not one other of the women of Babylon has stayed away?!

At that moment the priest cried out: Let my daughter be accursed if she does not come this very hour.

A low, stammering voice was heard: She is ill, my lord, and begs you to excuse her from coming tonight.