When Thyone in her presence heard from Gras that Hermon intended to go
to Proclus's banquet, she started up in horror, exclaiming, "Then the
unfortunate man is lost!"

Her husband, who had long trusted even the gravest secrets to his
discreet old wife, had informed her of the terrible office the King had
confided to him. All the male guests of Proclus were to be executed; the
women--the Queen at their head--would be sent into exile.

Then Daphne, on her knees, besought the matron to tell her what
threatened Hermon, and succeeded in persuading her to speak.

The terrified girl, accompanied by Gras, went first to her lover's house
and, when she did not find him there, hastened to the King's palace.

If Hermon could have seen her with her fluttering hair, dishevelled by
the night breeze, and checks blanched by excitement and terror, if he
had been told how she struggled with Thyone, who tried to detain her and
lock her up before she left her father's house, he would have perceived
with still prouder joy, had that been possible, what he possessed in the
devoted love of this true woman.

Grateful and moved by joyous hopes, he informed Daphne of the words of
the oracle, which had imprinted themselves upon his memory.

She, too, quickly retained them, and murmured softly:

"Noise and dazzling radiance are hostile to the purer light, Morning and
day will rise quietly from the starving sand."