" And he spoke the truth; yet despite the
disguise he clearly recognized the "Cyprian."

CHAPTER VII

DEMOCRATES AND THE TEMPTER

In the northern quarter of Athens the suburb of Alopece thrust itself
under the slopes of Mt. Lycabettus, that pyramid of tawny rock which
formed the rear bulwark, as it were, of every landscape of Athens. The
dwellings in the suburb were poor, though few even in the richer quarters
were at all handsome; the streets barely sixteen feet wide, ill-paved,
filthy, dingy. A line of dirty gray stucco house-fronts was broken only by
the small doors and the smaller windows in the second story. Occasionally
a two-faced bust of Hermes stood before a portal, or a marble lion's head
spouted into a corner water trough. All Athenian streets resembled these.
The citizen had his Pnyx, his Jury-Court, his gossiping Agora for his day.
These dingy streets sufficed for the dogs, the slaves, and the women, whom
wise Zeus ordered to remain at home.

Phormio the fishmonger had returned from his traffic, and sat in his
house-door meditating over a pot of sour wine and watching the last light
flickering on the great bulk of the mountain. He had his sorrows,--good
man,--for Lampaxo his worthy wife, long of tongue, short of temper, thrifty
and very watchful, was reminding him for the seventh time that he had sold
a carp half an obol too cheap. His patience indeed that evening was so
near to exhaustion that after cursing inwardly the "match-maker" who had
saddled this Amazon upon him, he actually found courage for an outbreak.
He threw up his arms after the manner of a tragic actor:--

"True, true is the word of Hesiod!"

"True is what?" flew back none too gently.

" 'The fool first suffers and is after wise.' Woman, I am resolved."

"On what?" Lampaxo's voice was soft as broken glass.

"Years increase. I shan't live long. We are childless. I will provide for
you in my will by giving you in marriage to Hyperphon."(3)

"Hyperphon!" screamed the virago, "Hyperphon the beggarly hunchback, the
laughing-stock of Athens! O Mother Hera!--but I see the villain's aim. You
are weary of me. Then divorce me like an honourable man. Send me back to
Polus my dear brother. Ah, you sheep, you are silent! You think of the
two-minae dowry you must then refund. Woe is me! I'll go to the King
Archon. I'll charge you with gross abuse. The jury will condemn you.
There'