“In the garden,” replied Gorgo.

“She is to sing at the foot of the bier!” cried Olympius.  “That must not be altered.”

“If I can persuade her—­she is a Christian,” said Karnis doubtfully.

“She must,” said the philosopher positively.  “It will be a bad lookout indeed for the logic and rhetoric of Alexandria if an old professor and disputant cannot succeed in turning a young girl’s resolutions upside down.  Leave that to me.  I shall find time for a chat with you by and bye, friend Karnis.  How in the world does it happen that you, who so often have helped us with your father’s coin, have come down to be the chief of a band of travelling musicians?  You will have much to tell me, my good friend; but even such important matters must give way to those that are more pressing.  One word with you, Porphyrius.”

Agne had been all this time awaiting Herse’s return in the colonnade that ran along the garden-front of the house.  She was glad to be alone, and it was very comfortable to rest on the soft cushions under the gilt-coffered ceiling of the arcade.  At each end stood large shrubs covered with bunches of violet-blue flowers and the spreading branches cast a pleasant shade on the couch where she sat; the beautiful flowers, which were strange to her, were delightfully fragrant, and from time to time she helped herself to the refreshments which Gorgo herself had brought out to her.  All she saw, heard, and felt, was soothing to her mind; never had she seen or tasted juicier peaches, richer bunches of grapes, fresher almonds or more tempting cakes; on the shrubs in the garden and on the grass-plots between the paths there was not a dead leaf, not a dry stem, not the tiniest weed.  The buds were swelling on the tall trees, shrubs without end were covered with blossoms—­white, blue, yellow, and red—­while, among the smooth, shining leaves of the orange and lemon trees, gleamed the swelling fruit.  On a round tank close at hand some black swans were noiselessly tracing evanescent circles and uttering their strange lament.  The song of birds mingled with the plash of fountains, and even the marble statues, for all that they were dumb, seemed to be enjoying the sweet morning air and the stir and voice of nature.

Yes, she could be happy here; as she peeled a peach and slowly swallowed the soft fragrant mouthfuls, she laughed to remember the hard ship’s-biscuit, of the two previous days’ fare.  And it was Gorgo’s privilege to revel in these good things day after day, year after year.  It was like living in Eden, in the perpetual spring of man’s first blissful home on earth.  There could be no suffering here; who could cry here, who could be sorrowful, who could die? . . .  Here a new train of thought forced itself upon her.  She was still so young, and yet she was as familiar with the idea of death as she was with life; for whenever she had happened to tell any minister of her creed that she