“I am the one, and I am doing the other,” answered the Corinthian with a laugh, for he it was to whom the Roman’s speech was addressed.  “How do you like my nest of young doves?  It strikes me as uncommonly pretty, and how well the golden circlet that links their necks becomes the little creatures!”

“Here, put out your claws, you black crocodile,” he continued, turning to his little assistant, “carry the basket carefully into the house, and repeat what I say, ’From the love-sick Lysias to the fair Irene’—­Only look, Publius, how the little monster grins at me with his white teeth.  You shall hear that his Greek is far less faultless than his teeth.  Prick up your ears, you little ichneumon—­now once more repeat what you are to say in there—­do you see where I am pointing with my finger?—­to the master or to the lady who shall take the doves from you.”

With much pitiful stammering the boy repeated the Corinthian’s message to Irene, and as he stood there with his mouth wide open, Lysias, who was an expert at “ducks and drakes” on the water, neatly tossed into it a silver drachma.  This mouthful was much to the little rascal’s taste, for after he had taken the coin out of his mouth he stood with wide-open jaws opposite his liberal master, waiting for another throw; Lysias however boxed him lightly on his ears, and chucked him under the chin, saying as he snapped the boy’s teeth together: 

“Now carry up the birds and wait for the answer.”  “This offering is to Irene, then?” said Publius.  “We have not met for a long time; where were you all day yesterday?”

“It will be far more entertaining to hear what you were about all the night long.  You are dressed as if you had come straight here from Rome.  Euergetes has already sent for you once this morning, and the queen twice; she is over head and ears in love with you.”

“Folly!  Tell me now what you were doing all yesterday.”

“Tell me first where you have been.”

“I had to go some distance and will tell you all about it later, but not now; and I encountered strange things on my way—­aye, I must say extraordinary things.  Before sunrise I found a bed in the inn yonder, and to my own great surprise I slept so soundly that I awoke only two hours since.”

“That is a very meagre report; but I know of old that if you do not choose to speak no god could drag a syllable from you.  As regards myself I should do myself an injury by being silent, for my heart is like an overloaded beast of burden and talking will relieve it.  Ah!  Publius, my fate to-day is that of the helpless Tantalus, who sees juicy pears bobbing about under his nose and tempting his hungry stomach, and yet they never let him catch hold of them, only look-in there dwells Irene, the pear, the peach, the pomegranate, and my thirsting heart is consumed with longing for her.  You may laugh—­but to-day Paris might meet Helen with impunity, for Eros has shot his whole store of arrows into me.  You