He threw himself on the divan and told Horapollo all that had passed between him and Orion.  “And the maddest part of it all,” he ended, “is that I almost like the man; that he really seems to me to be on the high road to become a capital fellow; and that I no longer feel inclined to pitch him into a lime-kiln at the mere thought of his putting out a hand to Paula.  At the same time,” and he started to his feet, “even if I help him to bring the poor little girl away from that demented old hag, I cannot and will not continue to be her physician.  There are plenty of quacks about in this corpse of a town, and they may find one of them.

“You will continue to treat the child,” interrupted the old man quietly.

“To have my heart daily flogged with nettles!” exclaimed the leech, going towards Horapollo with wild gesticulations.  “And do you believe that I have any desire to meet that young fellow’s sweetheart day after day, often twice a day, that the barb may be twisted round and round in my bleeding wound?”

“I expect a quite different result from your frequent meeting,” said the other.  “You will get accustomed to see her under the aspect which alone she can hence forth bear to you:  that of a handsome girl—­there are thousands such in Egypt,—­and the betrothed of another.”

“Certainly, if my heart were like a hunting-dog that lies down the moment it is bid,” said Philippus with a scornful laugh.  “The end of it is that I must go away, away from Memphis—­away from this miserable world for all I care!  I?—­Recover my peace of mind within reach of her?  Alas, for my blissful, lost peace!”

“And why not?  To every man a thing is only as he conceives of it.  Only listen to me:  I had finished a treatise on the old and new Calendars, and my master desired me to deliver a lecture on it in the Museum—­if the school of pedants in Alexandria now deserves the name; but I did not wish to do so because I knew that the presence of such a large and learned audience would embarrass me.  But my master advised me to imagine that my hearers were not men, but mere cabbages.  This gave me new light; I took his advice, got over my shyness, and my speech flowed like oil.”

“A very good story,” said Philippus, “but I do not see. . . .”

“The moral of it for you,” interrupted the old man, “is that you must regard the supremely adorable lady of your love as one among a dozen others—­I will not say as a cabbage—­as one with whom your heart has no more concern.  Put a little strength of will into it, and you will succeed.”

“If a heart were a cipher, and if passion were calendar-making! . . .” retorted Philippus.  “You are a very wise man, and your manuscripts and tables have stood like walls between you and passion.”

“Who can tell?” said Horapollo.  “But at any rate, it never should have had such power over me as to make me embitter the few remaining days under the sun yet granted to my father and friend for the sake of a woman who scorned my devotion.  Will you promise me to talk no more nonsense about flying from Memphis, or anything of the kind?”