cannot see them, but I can feel them, for not one of them has he drawn
out of the wound. And the darling little thing herself is not wholly
untouched by the winged boy's darts. She has confessed so much to me
myself. It is impossible for me to refuse her any thing, and so I was
fool enough to swear a horrible oath that I would not try to see
her till she was reunited to her tall solemn sister, of whom I am
exceedingly afraid. Yesterday I lurked outside this house just as a
hungry wolf in cold weather sneaks about a temple where lambs are being
sacrificed, only to see her, or at least to hear a word from her lips,
for when she speaks it is like the song of nightingales--but all in
vain. Early this morning I came back to the city and to this spot; and
as hanging about forever was of no use, I bought up the stock of the old
oil-seller, who is asleep there in the corner, and settled myself in his
stall, for here no one can escape me, who enters or quits Apollodorus'
house--and, besides, I am only forbidden to visit Irene; she herself
allows me to send her greetings, and no one forbids me, not even
Apollodorus, to whom I spoke an hour ago."

"And that basket of birds that your dusky errand-boy carried into the
house just now, was such a 'greeting?"

"Of course--that is the third already. First I sent her a lovely nosegay
of fresh pomegranate-blossoms, and with it a few verses I hammered out
in the course of the night; then a basket of peaches which she likes
very much, and now the doves. And there lie her answers--the dear, sweet
creature! For my nosegay I got this red riband, for the fruit this peach
with a piece bitten out. Now I am anxious to see what I shall get for my
doves. I bought that little brown scamp in the market, and I shall take
him with me to Corinth as a remembrance of Memphis, if he brings me back
something pretty this time. There, I hear the door, that is he; come
here youngster, what have you brought?" Publius stood with his arms
crossed behind his back, hearing and watching the excited speech and
gestures of his friend who seemed to him, to-day more than ever, one of
those careless darlings of the gods, whose audacious proceedings give
us pleasure because they match with their appearance and manner, and
we feel they can no more help their vagaries than a tree can help
blossoming. As soon as Lysias spied a small packet in the boy's hand he
did not take it from him but snatched up the child, who was by no