Greek answered with prompt zeal, "More, much more than
that I can bring you. I hasten--"

"Stay here," interrupted Publius with decision, holding him back by the
shoulder. "Serapion's request was addressed to me, and I prefer to do my
friend's pleasure in my own person."

"Go then," cried the Greek after Publius as he hurried away. "You will
not allow me even thanks from the sweetest lips in Memphis. Only look,
Serapion, what a hurry he is in. And now poor Eulaeus has to get up;
a hippopotamus might learn from him how to do so with due awkwardness.
Well! I call that making short work of it--a Roman never asks before he
takes; he has got all he wants and Eulaeus looks after him like a cow
whose calf has been stolen from her; to be sure I myself would rather
eat peaches than see them carried away! Oh if only the people in the
Forum could see him now! Publius Cornelius Scipio Nasica, own grandson
to the great Africanus, serving like a slave at a feast with a dish in
each hand! Well Publius, what has Rome the all conquering brought home
this time in token of victory?"

"Sweet peaches and a roast pheasant," said Cornelius laughing, and he
handed two dishes into the anchorite's window; "there is enough left
still for the old man."

"Thanks, many thanks!" cried Serapion, beckoning to Irene, and he gave
her a golden-yellow cake of wheaten bread, half of the roast bird,
already divided by Eulaeus, and two peaches, and whispered to her: "Klea
may come for the rest herself when these men are gone. Now thank this
kind gentleman and go."

For an instant the girl stood transfixed, her face crimson with
confusion and her glistening white teeth set in her nether lip,
speechless, face to face with the young Roman and avoiding the earnest
gaze of his black eyes. Then she collected herself and said:

"You are very kind. I cannot make any pretty speeches, but I thank you
most kindly."

"And your very kind thanks," replied Publius, "add to the delights of
this delightful morning. I should very much like to possess one of the
violets out of your hair in remembrance of this day--and of you."

"Take them all," exclaimed Irene, hastily taking the bunch from her hair
and holding them out to the Roman; but before he could take them she
drew back her hand and said with an air of importance:

"The queen has had them in her hand. My sister Klea got them yesterday
in the procession."

Scipio's face grew grave at these words, and he asked