Then he was silent, letting God speak, and nothing was heard in the Grotto of Nymphs but the sobs of Thais, mingled with the rippling of the running water.

She wept without trying to stop her tears, when two black slaves appeared, loaded with stuffs, perfumes, and garlands.

“It was hardly the right time to weep,” she said, trying to smile.  “Tears redden the eyes and spoil the complexion, and I must sup tonight with some friends, and want to be beautiful, for there will be women there quick to spy out marks of care on my face.  These slaves come to dress me.  Withdraw, my father, and allow them to do their work.  They are clever and experienced, and I pay them well for their services.  You see that one who wears thick rings of gold, and shows such white teeth.  I took her from the wife of the pro-consul.”

Paphnutius had at first a thought of dissuading Thais, as earnestly as he could, from going to this supper.  But he determined to act prudently, and asked what persons she would meet there.

She replied that there would be the host, old Cotta, the Prefect of the Fleet, Nicias, and several other philosophers who loved an argument, the poet Callicrates, the high priest of Serapis, some young men whose chief amusement was training horses, and lastly some women, of whom there was little to be said except that they were young.  Then, by a supernatural inspiration—­

“Go amongst them, Thais,” said the monk.  “Go!  But I will not leave thee.  I will go with thee to this banquet, and will remain by thy side without saying a word.”

She burst out laughing.  And whilst her two black slaves were busy dressing her, she cried—­

“What will they say when they see that I have a monk of the Thebaid for my lover?”

THE BANQUET

When, followed by Paphnutius, Thais entered the banqueting-room, the guests were already, for the most part, assembled, and reclining on their couches before the horseshoe table, which was covered with glittering vessels.  In the centre of the table stood a silver basin, surmounted by four figures of satyrs, who poured out from wine-skins on the boiled fish a kind of pickle in which they floated.  When Thais appeared, acclamations arose from all sides.

Greetings to the sister of the Graces!

To the silent Melpomene, who can express all things with her looks!

Salutation to the well-beloved of gods and men!

To the much desired!

To her who gives suffering and its cure!

To the pearl of Racotis!

To the rose of Alexandria!

She waited impatiently till this torrent of praise had passed, and then said to Cotta, the host—­

“Lucius, I have brought you a monk of the desert, Paphnutius, the Abbot of Antinoe.  He is a great saint, whose words burn like fire.”

Lucius Aurelius Cotta, the Prefect of the Fleet, rose, and replied—­