Both were equally tall and well formed; the features bore witness to their Greek origin; nay, they might have been taken for brothers, had not the architect’s whole appearance seemed sturdie and plainer than that of his companion, whom he called “Dion” and friend.  As the latter heaped merry sarcasms upon the figure wearing the laurel wreath who had just left him, Anaxenor, the famous zither-player, on whom Antony had bestowed the revenues of four cities and permission to keep body-guard, and Gorgias’s deeper voice sometime assented, sometimes opposed with sensible objections, the difference between these two men of the same age and race became clearly apparent.

Both showed a degree of self-reliance unusual, at their age; but the architect’s was the assurance which a man gains by toil and his own merit, Dion’s that which is bestowed by large possession and a high position in society.  Those who were ignorant that the weight of Dion’s carefully prepared speech had more than once turned the scale in the city councils would probably have been disposed to take him for one of the careless worldlings who had no lack of representatives among the gilded youth of Alexandria; while the architect’s whole exterior, from his keen eye to the stouter leather of his sandals, revealed earnest purpose and unassuming ability.

Their friendship had commenced when Gorgias built a new palace for Dion.  During long business association people become well acquainted, even though their conversations relate solely to direction and execution.  But in this case, he who gave the orders had been only the inspirer and adviser, the architect the warm-hearted friend, eager to do his utmost to realize what hovered before the other’s mind as the highest attainable excellence.  So the two young men became first dear, and finally almost indispensable to each other.  As the architect discovered in the wealthy man of the world many qualities whose existence he had not suspected, the latter was agreeably surprised to find in the artist, associated with his solidity of character, a jovial companion, who—­this first made him really beloved by his friend—­had no lack of weaknesses.

When the palace was completed to Dion’s satisfaction and became one of the most lauded ornaments of the city, the young men’s friendship assumed a new form, and it would have been difficult to say which received the most benefit.

Dion had just been stopped by the zither-player to ask for confirmation of the tidings that the united forces of Antony and Cleopatra had gained a great victory on sea and land.

In the eating-house at Kanopus, where he had breakfasted, everyone was full of the joyful news, and rivers of wine had been drunk to the health of the victors and the destruction of the malicious foe.  “In these days,” cried Dion, “not only weak-brained fellows, like the zither-player, believe me omniscient, but many sensible men also.  And why?  Because, forsooth, I am the nephew of Zeno, the Keeper of the Seal, who is on the brink of despair because he himself knows nothing, not even the veriest trifle.”