But an abyss had yawned and thrown them far back to an infinite distance from her.
The storm was departing; drops of water splashing rarely, one by one, made the tent-roof shake.
Matho slept like a drunken man, stretched on his side, and with one arm over the edge of the couch.

His band of pearls was raised somewhat, and uncovered his brow; his teeth were parted in a smile; they shone through his black beard, and there was a silent and almost outrageous gaiety in his half-closed eyelids.
Salammbo looked at him motionless, her head bent and her hands crossed.
A dagger was displayed on the table of cypress-wood at the head of the bed; the sight of the gleaming blade fired her with a sanguinary desire.
Mournful voices lingered at a distance in the shade, and like a chorus of geniuses urged her on.

She approached it; she seized the steel by the handle.

At the rustling of her dress Matho half opened his eyes, putting forth his mouth upon her hands, and the dagger fell.
Shouts arose; a terrible light flashed behind the canvas.

Matho raised the latter; they perceived the camp of the Libyans enveloped in great flames.
Their reed huts were burning, and the twisting stems burst in the smoke and flew off like arrows; black shadows ran about distractedly on the red horizon.