So saying Demetrius stretched himself on a divan and invited Marcus to do the same, and in a few minutes their conversation had turned, as usual, to the subject of horses.  Marcus was full of praises of the stallions his brother had bred for him, and which he had ridden that very day round the Myssa—­[The Myssa was the Meta, or turning-post]—­in the Hippodrome, and his brother added with no small complacency: 

“They were all bred from the same sire and from the choicest mares.  I broke them in myself, and I only wish. . . .  But why did you not come to the stables this morning?”

“I could not,” replied Marcus coloring slightly.  Then we will go to-morrow to Nicopolis and I will show you how to get Megaera past the Taraxippios.”—­[The terror of the horses.]

“To-morrow?” said Marcus somewhat embarrassed.  “In the morning I must go to see Eusebius and then. . . .”

“Well, then?”

“Then I must—­I mean I should like. . . .”

“What?”

“Well, to be sure I might, all the same.—­But no, it is not to be done—­I have. . . .”

“What, what?” cried Demetrius with increasing impatience:  “My time is limited and if you start the horses without knowing my way of managing them they will certainly not do their best.  As soon as the market begins to fill we will set out.  We shall need a few hours for the Hippodrome, then we will dine with Damon, and before dark. . . .”

“No, no,” replied Marcus, “to-morrow, certainly, I positively cannot. . . .”

“People who have nothing to do always lack time,” replied the other.  “Is to-morrow one of your festivals?”

“No, not that=-and Good Heavens!  If only I could. . . .”

“Could, could!” cried Demetrius angrily and standing close in front of his brother with his arms folded.  “Say out honestly:  ‘I will not go,’ or else, ’my affairs are my own secret and I mean to keep it.’—­But give me no more of your silly equivocations.”

His vehemence increased the younger man’s embarrassment, and as he stood trying to find an explanation which might come somewhat near the truth and yet not betray him, Demetrius, who had stood watching him closely, suddenly exclaimed: 

“By Aphrodite, the daughter of the foam! it is a love affair—­an assignation.—­Woman, woman, always woman!”

“An assignation!” cried Marcus shaking his head.  “No indeed, no one expects me; and yet—­I had rather you should misunderstand me than think that I had lied.  Yes—­I am going to seek a woman; and if I do not find her to-morrow, if in the course of tomorrow I do not succeed in my heart’s desire, she is lost—­not only to me, though I cannot give up the heavenly love for the sake of the earthly and fleshly—­but to my Lord and Saviour.  It is the life—­the everlasting life or death of one of God’s loveliest creatures that hangs on to-morrow’s work.”

Demetrius was greatly astonished, and it was with an angry gesture of impatience that he replied: