“It is vanity to glorify in metal these false sages; their lies are confounded, their souls are lost in hell, and even the famous Plato himself, who filled the earth with his eloquence, now disputes with the devils.”

A slave opened the door, and seeing a man with bare feet standing on the mosaic threshold, said to him roughly—­

“Go and beg elsewhere, stupid monk, or I will drive you away with a stick.”

“Brother,” replied the Abbott of Antinoe, “all that I ask is that you conduct me to your master, Nicias.”

The slave replied, more angrily than before—­

“My master does not see dogs like you.”

“My son,” said Paphnutius, “will you please do what I ask, and tell your master that I desire to see him.

“Get out, vile beggar!” cried the porter furiously; and he raised his stick and struck the holy man, who, with his arms crossed upon his breast, received unmovedly the blow, which fell full in his face, and then repeated gently—­

“Do as I ask you, my son, I beg.”

The porter tremblingly murmured—­

“Who is this man who is not afraid of suffering?”

And he ran and told his master.

Nicias had just left the bath.  Two pretty slave girls were scraping him with strigils.  He was a pleasant-looking man, with a kind smile.  There was an expression of gentle satire in his face.  On seeing the monk, he rose and advanced with open arms.

“It is you!” he cried, “Paphnutius, my fellow-scholar, my friend my brother!  Oh, I knew you again, though, to say the truth, you look more like a wild animal than a man.  Embrace me.  Do you remember the time when we studied grammar, rhetoric, and philosophy together?  You were, even then, of a morose and wild character, but I liked you because of your complete sincerity.  We used to say that you looked at the universe with the eyes of a wild horse, and it was not surprising you were dull and moody.  You needed a pinch of Attic salt, but your liberality knew no bounds.  You cared nothing for either your money or your life.  And you had the eccentricity of genius, and a strange character which interested me deeply.  You are welcome, my dear Paphnutius, after ten years of absence.  You have quitted the desert; you have renounced all Christian superstitions, and now return to your old life.  I will mark this day with a white stone.”

“Crobyle and Myrtale,” he added, turning towards the girls, “perfume the feet, hands, and beard of my dear guest.”

They smiled, and had already brought the basin, the phials, and the metal mirror.  But Paphnutius stopped them with an imperious gesture, and lowered his eyes that he might not look upon them, for they were naked.  Nicias brought cushions for him, and offered him various meats and drinks, which Paphnutius scornfully refused.

“Nicias,” he said, “I have not renounced what you falsely call the Christian superstition, which is the truth of truths.  ’In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.  All things were made by Him, and without Him was not anything made that was made.  In Him was the life, and the life was the light of men.’”