“The light—­here comes the light!” exclaimed Gabinius, taking from the slave’s hand the three-branched lamp which Selene had hastily supplied with a fresh wick, and he placed it, while he murmured to Keraunus, “By your leave,” down on the centre of the mosaic.  The steward looked at the man on his left hand, with puzzled inquiry, but Gabinius heeded him not but went down on his knees again, felt the mosaic over with his hand, and devoured the picture of the marriage of Peleus with his eyes.

“Have you lost anything?” asked Keraunus.

“No-nothing whatever.  There in the corner—­now I am satisfied.  Shall I place the lamp there, on the table?  So—­and now to return to business.”

“I beg to do so, but I may as well begin by telling you that in my case it is a question not of drachmae but of Attic talents.”—­[ The Attic talent was worth about L200, or $1000 dollars in the 1880 exchange rate.]

“That is a matter of course, and I will offer you five; that is to say a sum for which you could buy a handsome roomy house.”

Once more the blood mounted to the steward’s head; for a few minutes he could not utter a word, for his heart thumped violently; but presently be so far controlled himself as to be able to answer.  This time at any rate, he was determined to seize Fortune by the forelock and not to be taken advantage of, so he said: 

“Five talents will not do; bid higher.”

“Then let us say six.”

“If you say double that we are agreed.”

“I cannot put it beyond ten talents; why, for that sum you might build a small palace.”

“I stand out for twelve.”

“Well, be it so, but not a sesterce more.”

“I cannot bear to part with my splendid work of art,” sighed Keraunus.  “But I will take your offer, and give you my Apelles.”

“It is not that picture I am dealing for,” replied Gabinius.  “It is of trifling value, and you may continue to enjoy the possession of it.  It is another work of art in this room that I wish to have, and which has hitherto seemed to you scarcely worth notice.  I have discovered it, and one of my rich customers has asked me to find him just such a thing.”

“I do not know what it is.”

“Does everything in this room belong to you?”

“Whom else should it belong to?”

“Then you may dispose of it as you please?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Very well, then—­the twelve Attic talents which I offer you are to be paid for the picture that is under our feet.”

“The mosaic! that?  It belongs to the palace.”

“It belongs to your residence, and that, I heard you say yourself, has been inhabited for more than a century by your forefathers.  I know the law; it pronounces that everything which has remained in undisputed possession in one family, for a hundred years, becomes their property.”

“This mosaic belongs to the palace.”