“It does me honor, my learned friend; by all the gods it does me honor,” replied Verus.  “And in fact it is possible, it might very will be—­Will you do me the favor to come with me to that bust of Hipparchus?  By the aid of that science which owes so much to him you may be able to render me an important service.”

When the two men were standing apart from the others, in front of the white marble portrait of the great astronomer, Verus asked: 

“Do you know by what method Caesar is wont to presage the fates of men from the stars?”

“Perfectly.”

“From whom?”

“From Aquila, my father’s disciple.”

“Can you calculate what he will learn from the stars in the night preceding the thirtieth of December, as to the destinies of a man who was born in that night, and whose horoscope I possess?”

“I can only answer a conditional yes to that question.”

“What should prevent your answering positively?”

“Unforeseen appearances in the heavens.”

Are such signs common?”

“No, they are rare, on the contrary.”

“But perhaps my fortune is not a common one-and I beg of you to calculate on Hadrian’s method what the heavens will predict on that night for the man whose horoscope my slave shall deliver to you early to-morrow morning.”

“I will do so with pleasure.”

“When can you have finished this work?”

“In four days at latest, perhaps even sooner.”

“Capital!  But one thing more.  Do you regard me as a man, I mean, as a true man?”

“If you were not, would you have given me such reason to be grateful to you?”

“Well then, conceal nothing from me, not even the worst horrors, things that might poison another man’s life, and crush his spirit.  Whatever you read in the celestial record, small or great, good or evil.  I require you to tell me all.”

“I will conceal nothing, absolutely nothing.”

The praetor offered Ben Jochai his right hand, and warmly pressed the Jew’s slender, well-shaped fingers.  Before he went away he settled with him how he should inform him when he had finished his labors.

The Alexandrian with his guests and children accompanied the praetor to the door.  Only Ben Jamin was absent; he was sitting with his companions in his father’s dining-room, and rewarding them for the assistance they had given him with right good wine.  Gamaliel heard them shouting and singing, and pointing to the room he shrugged his shoulders, saying, as he turned to his host: 

“They are returning thanks to the God of our fathers in the Alexandrian fashion.”

And peace was broken no more in the Jew’s house but by the firm tramp of lictors and soldiers who kept watch over it, under arms.

In a side street the praetor met the tailor he had knocked down, the sausage-maker, and other ringleaders of the attack on the Israelite’s house.  They were being led away prisoners before the night magistrates.  Verus would have set them at liberty with all his heart, but he knew that the Emperor would enquire next morning what had been done to the rioters, and so he forbore.  At any other time he would certainly have sent them home unpunished, but just now he was dominated by a wish that was more dominant than his good nature or his facile impulses.