ANDROMACHE.
Shall you hate men still?
MOLOSSUS.
If they wrong me! [ANDROMACHE _smiles_.] Shall I not hate them that wrong me? Do you not yourself?
ANDROMACHE.
Light of my age, if I hated, how should I live? There are three living souls that I love--you and your father and old Alcimus. And if I hated, whom should I hate more bitterly?
MOLOSSUS.
I know my father was your enemy once. But what did old Alcimus?
ANDROMACHE.
He was one of the three who slew my little child.
MOLOSSUS.
Astyanax? [_She nods._] I wish Astyanax were alive, mother. I would take him hunting.--He would have no share, would he, in my heritage?
ANDROMACHE.
I know nothing of that.
MOLOSSUS.
And did you never hate them--not at the time?
ANDROMACHE.
[_Looking at him, then passing her hand across her face._] Oh yes, I hated them!
MOLOSSUS.
But not me! I never did much harm to you.
ANDROMACHE.
Some day perhaps you will hurt me worse than any of them; but I shall not hate you.
MOLOSSUS.
[_After a pause, handling the objects in the bowl._] Well, I give you my oath this time, Mother; but I will not atone for my next slaying.
_Enter_ ALCIMEDON _and Attendants_.
ALCIMEDON.
The bull is finished, and a fine beast he was. [_Seeing the bowl._] What is this?
MOLOSSUS.
[_Shamefaced._] Nothing. Some pieces of mother's old stores.
ANDROMACHE.
The price for the blood of the herd-boy.
MOLOSSUS.
She made me vow it!
ALCIMEDON.
The atonement? That is right. I feared that Pyrrhus would be too proud to pay it.
MOLOSSUS.
You need not think that _I_ wanted him to pay it!
ALCIMEDON.
H'm! That was how _I_ talked once, before I knew what a blood-feud was.
And now I would pay a dead man's weight in silver to be clear of one.
Of course, with a stranger it is different, or a man who has no kin.
[_Examining the stores._] No need to pay too much, though. It was a little boy, they tell me, and poorly clad.
MOLOSSUS.
[_Almost crying._] He was a big boy!--I hate the Napaeans, and I will slay more of them!
ALCIMEDON.
There are the oxen as well. We have killed two; but sorry beasts, both, sorry beasts. Any two calves will more than make up for them.
MOLOSSUS.
But I hate them!
ALCIMEDON.
Hate them your fill; but make up the feud: we must not have Pyrrhus left childless.
MOLOSSUS.