see what is going on."

These words referred to a loud discussion which had arisen close by the
couches of the prefect and Verus, the praetor. They, and with them most
of the painters and sculptors present, were of opinion that Arsinoe
would be a wonderfully effective Roxana; they maintained that her face
and figure answered perfectly to those of the Bactrian princes as they
were represented by Action, whose picture was, to a certain extent,
to serve as the basis of the living group. Only Papias and two of his
fellow-artists, declared against this choice, and eagerly asserted that
among all the damsels present one, and one alone, was worthy to appear
before the Emperor as Alexander's bride, and that one was Praxilla, the
daughter of Gabinius. All three were in close business relations with
the father of the young girl, who was tall, and slim, and certainly
very lovely, and they wanted to do a pleasure to the rich and knowing
purchaser. Their zeal even assumed a tone of vehemence, when the dealer,
following in the wake of Plutarch, joined the group of disputants, and
they were certain of being heard by him.

"And who is this girl yonder?" asked Papias, pointing to Arsinoe, as the
two came up. "Nothing can be said against her beauty, but she is dressed
less than simply, and wears no kind of ornament worth speaking of--it is
a thousand to one against her parents being in a position to provide her
with such a rich dress, and such costly jewels as Roxana certainly ought
to display when about to be married to Alexander. The Asiatic princess
must appear in silk, gold and precious stones. Now my friend here will
be able so to dress his Praxilla that the splendor of her attire might
have astonished the great Macedonian himself, but who is the father of
that pretty child who is satisfied with the blue ribbon in her hair, her
two roses, and her little white frock?"

"Your reflections are just, Papias," interrupted the dealer, with
dry incisiveness. "The girl you are speaking of is quite out of the
question. I do not say so for my daughter's sake, but because everything
in bad taste is odious to me; it is hardly conceivable how such a young
thing could have had the audacity to force herself in here. A pretty
face, to be sure, opens locks and bars. She is--do not be too much
startled--she is nothing more than a work-girl in the papyrus factory of
our excellent host, Plutarch."

"That is not the truth," Pollux interrupted, indigna