After Pollux had hurried past this strange party his thoughts reverted to other, and to him far nearer and dearer subjects.  But Mastor’s anxious looks were not without a cause, for the gentleman who was talking to him was no less a person than Verus, the praetor, who was called by the Alexandrians the sham Eros.  He had seen the Emperor’s body-slave a hundred times about his person; he therefore recognized him at once, and his presence here in Alexandria led him directly to the simple and correct inference that his master too must be in the city.  The praetor’s curiosity was roused, and he at once proceeded to ply the poor fellow with bewildering cross-questions.  When the donkey-rider shortly and sharply refused to answer, Verus thought it well to reveal himself to him, and the slave lost his confident demeanor when he recognized the grand gentleman, the Emperor’s particular friend.

He lost himself in contradictory statements, and although he did not directly admit it, he left his interrogator in the certainty that Hadrian was in Alexandria.

It was perfectly evident that the beautiful nosegay, which had attracted the praetor’s attention to Mastor could not belong to himself.  What could be its destination?  Verus recommenced his questioning, but the Sarmatian would betray nothing, till Verus tapped him lightly first on one cheek and then on the other, and said gaily: 

“Mastor, my worthy friend Mastor, listen to me.  I will make you certain proposals, and you shall nod your head, towards that of the estimable beast with two pairs of legs on which you are mounted, as soon as one of them takes your fancy.”

“Let me go on my way,” the slave implored, with growing anxiety.

“Go, by all means, but I go with you,” retorted Verus, “until I have hit on the thing that suits you.  A great many plans dwell in my head, as you will see.  First I must ask you, shall I go to your master and tell him that you have betrayed his presence in Alexandria?”

“Sir, you will never do that!” cried Mastor.

“To proceed then.  Shall I and my following hang on to your skirts and stay with you till nightfall, when you and your steed must return home?  You decline—­with thanks! and very wisely, for the execution of this project would be equally unpleasant to you and to me, and would probably get you punished.  Whisper to me then, softly, in my ear, where your master is lodging, and from whom and to whom you are carrying those flowers; as soon as you have agreed to that proposal I will let you go on alone, and will show you that I care no more for my gold pieces here, in Alexandria, than I do in Italy.”

“Not gold—­certainly I will not take gold!” cried Mastor.

“You are an honest fellow,” replied Verus in an altered tone, “and you know of me that I treat my servants well and would rather be kind to folks than hard upon them.  So satisfy my curiosity without any fear, and I will promise you in return, that not a soul, your master least of all, shall ever know from me what you tell me.”  Mastor hesitated a little, but as he could not but own to himself that he would be obliged at last to yield to the stronger will of this imperious man, and as moreover he knew that the haughty and extravagant praetor was in fact one of the kindest of masters, he sighed deeply and whispered: