“When doves are courting the lover adorns himself only;
     But when a youth loves, he fain would adorn his beloved.”

“Am I allowed to hear it?” asked Publius, and his friend at once read him the lines; then he gave the tablet to the boy, with the bracelet which he hastily wrapped up again, and desired him to take it back immediately to the fair Irene.  But the Roman detained the lad, and laying his hand on the Greek’s shoulder, he asked him:  “And if the young girl accepts this gift, and after it many more besides—­since you are rich enough to make her presents to her heart’s content—­what then, Lysias?”

“What then?” repeated the other with more indecision and embarrassment than was his wont.  “Then I wait for Klea’s return home and—­Aye! you may laugh at me, but I have been thinking seriously of marrying this girl, and taking her with me to Corinth.  I am my father’s only son, and for the last three years he has given me no peace.  He is bent on my mother’s finding me a wife or on my choosing one for myself.  And if I took him the pitch-black sister of this swarthy lout I believe he would be glad.  I never was more madly in love with any girl than with this little Irene, as true as I am your friend; but I know why you are looking at me with a frown like Zeus the Thunderer.  You know of what consequence our family is in Corinth, and when I think of that, then to be sure—­”

“Then to be sure?” enquired the Roman in sharp, grave tone.

“Then I reflect that a water-bearer—­the daughter of an outlawed man, in our house—­”

“And do you consider mine as being any less illustrious in Rome than your own is in Corinth?” asked Publius sternly.

“On the contrary, Publius Cornelius Scipio Nasica.  We are important by our wealth, you by your power and estates.”

“So it is—­and yet I am about to conduct Irene’s sister Klea as my lawful wife to my father’s house.”

“You are going to do that!” cried Lysias springing from his seat, and flinging himself on the Roman’s breast, though at this moment a party of Egyptians were passing by in the deserted street.  “Then all is well, then—­oh! what a weight is taken off my mind!—­then Irene shall be my wife as sure as I live!  Oh Eros and Aphrodite and Father Zeus and Apollo! how happy I am!  I feel as if the biggest of the Pyramids yonder had fallen off my heart.  Now, you rascal, run up and carry to the fair Irene, the betrothed of her faithful Lysias—­mark what I say—­carry her at once this tablet and bracelet.  But you will not say it right; I will write here above my distich:  ’From the faithful Lysias to the fair Irene his future wife.’  There—­and now I think she will not send the thing back again, good girl that she is!  Listen, rascal, if she keeps it you may swallow cakes to-day out on the Grand Square till you burst—­and yet I have only just paid five gold pieces for you.  Will she keep the bracelet, Publius—­yes or no?”