“And even if he were,” interrupted Publius with glowing cheeks, “I would bring him to ruin all the same, for a man like Philotas must not perish, and his cause henceforth is my own.  Here is my hand upon it; and if I am happy in having descended from a noble race it is above all because the word of a son of the Cornelii is as good as the accomplished deed of any other man.”

The recluse grasped the right hand the young man gave him and nodded to him affectionately, his eyes radiant, though moistened with joyful emotion.  Then he hastily turned his back on the young man, and soon reappeared with a large papyrus-roll in his hand.  “Take this,” he said, handing it to the Roman, “I have here set forth all that I have told you, fully and truly with my own hand in the form of a petition.  Such matters, as I very well know, are never regularly conducted to an issue at court unless they are set forth in writing.  If the queen seems disposed to grant you a wish give her this roll, and entreat her for a letter of pardon.  If you can effect this, all is won.”

Publius took the roll, and once more gave his hand to the anchorite, who, forgetting himself for a moment, shouted out in his loud voice: 

“May the gods bless thee, and by thy means work the release of the noblest of men from his sufferings!  I had quite ceased to hope, but if you come to our aid all is not yet wholly lost.”

CHAPTER VI.

“Pardon me if I disturb you.”

With these words the anchorite’s final speech was interrupted by Eulaeus, who had come in to the Pastophorium softly and unobserved, and who now bowed respectfully to Publius.

“May I be permitted to enquire on what compact one of the noblest of the sons of Rome is joining hands with this singular personage?”

“You are free to ask,” replied Publius shortly and drily, “but every one is not disposed to answer, and on the present occasion I am not.  I will bid you farewell, Serapion, but not for long I believe.”

“Am I permitted to accompany you?” asked Eulaeus.

“You have followed me without any permission on my part.”

“I did so by order of the king, and am only fulfilling his commands in offering you my escort now.”

“I shall go on, and I cannot prevent your following me.”

“But I beg of you,” said Eulaeus, “to consider that it would ill-become me to walk behind you like a servant.”

“I respect the wishes of my host, the king, who commanded you to follow me,” answered the Roman.  “At the door of the temple however you can get into your chariot, and I into mine; an old courtier must be ready to carry out the orders of his superior.”

“And does carry them out,” answered Eulaeus with deference, but his eyes twinkled—­as the forked tongue of a serpent is rapidly put out and still more rapidly withdrawn—­with a flash first of threatening hatred, and then another of deep suspicion cast at the roll the Roman held in his hand.