Then he grew grave again, shook his head, and said meditatively:  “No, no; such plans only disturb one’s peace of mind.  A pleasant vision!  But scarcely feasible.”

“Not for the present, at any rate,” replied the leech.

“So long as Paula’s fate remains undecided, I beg you to let the matter rest.”

The old man muttered a curse on her; then he said with a vicious, sharp flash in his eyes:  “That patrician viper!  Every where in everything—­she spoils it all!  But wait a while!  I fancy she will soon be removed from our path, and then. . . .  No, even now, at the present time, I will not allow that we should be deprived of what would embellish life, of doing a thing which may turn the scale in my favor in the day of judgment.  The wishes of a dying man are sacred:  So our fathers held it; and they were right.  The old man’s will must be done!  Yes, yes, yes.  It is settled.  As soon as that hindrance is removed, we will keep house with the two women.  I have said; and I mean it.”

At this point the gardener came in again, and the old man called out to him: 

“Listen, man.  We shall live together after all; you shall hear more of this later.  Stay with my people till sundown, but you must keep your own counsel, for they are all listeners and blabs.  The physician here will now take the melancholy tidings to the unfortunate widow, and then you can talk it all over with her at night.  Nothing startling must take place at the house there; and with regard to your master, even his death must remain a secret from every one but us and his family.”

The gardener knew full well how much depended on his silence; Philippus tacitly agreed to the old man’s arrangement, but for the present he avoided discussing the matter with the women.  When, at length he set off on his painful errand to the widow, Horapollo dismissed him saying: 

“Courage, courage, my Son.—­And as you pass by, just glance at our little garden;—­we grieved to see the fine old palm-tree perish; but now a young and vigorous shoot is growing from the root.”

“It has been drooping since yesterday and will die away,” replied Philippus shrugging his shoulders.

But the old man exclaimed:  “Water it, Gibbus! the palm-tree must be watered at once.”

“Aye, you have water at hand for that!” retorted the leech, but he added bitterly as he reached the stairs, “If it were so in all cases!”

“Patience and good purpose will always win,” murmured the old man; and when he was alone he growled on angrily:  “Only be rid of that dry old palm-tree—­his past life in all its relations to that patrician hussy Away with it, into the fire!—­But how am I to get her?  How can I manage it?”

He threw himself back in his arm-chair, rubbing his forehead with the tips of his fingers.  He had come to no result when the negro requested an audience for some visitors.  These were the heads of the senate of Memphis, who had come as a deputation to ask counsel of the old sage.  He, if any one, would find some means of averting or, at any rate, mitigating the fearful calamity impending over the town and country, and against which prayer, sacrifice, processions, and pilgrimages had proved abortive.  They were quite resolved to leave no means untried, not even if heathen magic should be the last resource.