up to the men who were throwing the stones, he chinked the money in their ears.  At first they paid no attention to him, their fury being too great; but little by little their looks turned towards the chinking gold, and soon their arms dropped and no longer menaced their victim.  Seeing that he had attracted their eyes and minds, Nicias opened his purse and threw some pieces of gold and silver amongst the crowd.  The more greedy of them stooped to pick it up.  The philosopher, pleased at his first success, adroitly threw deniers and drachmas here and there.  At the sound of the pieces of money rattling on the pavement, the persecutors of Paphnutius threw themselves on the ground.  Beggars, slaves, and tradespeople scrambled after the money, whilst, grouped round Cerons, the patricians watched the struggle and laughed heartily.  Cerons himself quite forgot his wrath.  His friends encouraged the rivals, chose competitors, and made bets, and urged on the miserable wretches as they would have done fighting dogs.  A cripple without legs having succeeded in seizing a drachma, the applause was frenetic.  The young men themselves began to throw money, and nothing was to be seen in the square but a multitude of backs, rising and falling like waves of the sea, under a shower of coins.  Paphnutius was forgotten.

Nicias ran up to him, covered him with his cloak, and dragged him and Thais into by-streets where they were safe from pursuit.  They ran for some time in silence, and when they thought they were out of reach of their enemies, they ceased running, and Nicias said, in a tone of raillery in which a little sadness was mingled—­

“It is finished then!  Pluto ravishes Proserpine, and Thais will follow my fierce-looking friend whithersoever he will lead her.”

“It is true, Nicias,” replied Thais, “that I am tired of living with men like you, smiling, perfumed, kindly egoists.  I am weary of all I know, and I am, therefore, going to seek the unknown.  I have experienced joy that was not joy, and here is a man who teaches me that sorrow is true joy.  I believe him, for he knows the truth.”

“And I, sweetheart,” replied Nicias, smiling, “I know the truths.  He knows but one, I know them all.  I am superior to him in that respect, but to tell the truth, it doesn’t make me any the prouder nor any the happier.”

Then, seeing that the monk was glaring fiercely at him—­

“My dear Paphnutius, do not imagine that I think you extremely absurd, or even altogether unreasonable.  And if I were to compare your life with mine, I could not say which is preferable in itself.  I shall presently go and take the bath which Crobyle and Myrtale have prepared for me; I shall eat the wing of a Phasian pheasant; then I shall read—­for the hundredth time—­some fable by Apuleius or some treatise by Porphyry.  You will return to your cell, where, leaning like a tame camel, you will ruminate on—­I know not what—­formulas of incarnations you