ons to bring her whatever notable works
they found on their voyages, and the booksellers in Athens remitted to
her famous books of entertainment which enjoyed vogue in their city.
They were all of papyrus, consisting of strips rolled upon cylinders of
wood or bone, each end wrought into an artistically carved _umbilicus_.
The sheets, written only on one side, were impregnated on the other with
cedar oil to protect them from moths, and the title of the book, the
name of the author, and the index, gleamed in letters of minium and gold
on the purple outer wrapping. The copying of these books represented the
life work of many men, productions to be acquired only at the cost of
great sums of money, and the Greek, with the respect characteristic of
his race for art and wisdom, recognized that he was surrounded in the
silence of the library by the august shades of many great men, and with
veneration he turned from the Homer in its old, time-worn papyrus, and
the works of Thales and Pythagoras, to the contemporary poets,
Theocritus and Callimachus, whose volumes were unrolled, denoting recent
reading.

Actaeon's ear caught a faint rustling of sandals in the peristyle, and
the square of pale gold thrown on the floor by the light entering the
doorway from the courtyard was darkened by a form. It was Sonnica
arrayed in a gauzy white tunic. The light behind her marked the artistic
lines of her body in the diaphanous cloud of her garment.

"Welcome, Athenian!" she said, in a studied but harmonious voice. "Those
who come from over _there_ are ever masters in my house. The banquet
to-night shall be in your honor, for no one can be king of the feast and
direct conversation like a son of Athens."

Actaeon, somewhat stirred by the presence of a beautiful woman enveloped
by intoxicating perfumes, began to speak of her house, of his
astonishment at its magnificence in that barbarian land, and of the
admiration which its owner enjoyed in the city. Everyone he met had
spoken to him of Sonnica the rich!

"Yes, they like me; yet sometimes they censure me; but let us speak of
you, Actaeon; tell me who you are. Your life must be as interesting as
that of old Ulysses. Tell me first what new thing there is in Athens."

For a long time the two Greeks maintained an incessant chattering. She
was eager to know what courtesans triumphed in the Cerameicus and set
the fashions; merry, unconsciously harking back to the life of old,
forgetful of her p