ning water.

She wept without trying to stop her tears, when two black slaves
appeared, loaded with stuffs, perfumes, and garlands.

"It was hardly the right time to weep," she said, trying to smile.
"Tears redden the eyes and spoil the complexion, and I must sup tonight
with some friends, and want to be beautiful, for there will be women
there quick to spy out marks of care on my face. These slaves come to
dress me. Withdraw, my father, and allow them to do their work. They are
clever and experienced, and I pay them well for their services. You see
that one who wears thick rings of gold, and shows such white teeth. I
took her from the wife of the pro-consul."

Paphnutius had at first a thought of dissuading Thais, as earnestly as
he could, from going to this supper. But he determined to act prudently,
and asked what persons she would meet there.

She replied that there would be the host, old Cotta, the Prefect of the
Fleet, Nicias, and several other philosophers who loved an argument, the
poet Callicrates, the high priest of Serapis, some young men whose chief
amusement was training horses, and lastly some women, of whom there was
little to be said except that they were young. Then, by a supernatural
inspiration--

"Go amongst them, Thais," said the monk. "Go! But I will not leave thee.
I will go with thee to this banquet, and will remain by thy side without
saying a word."

She burst out laughing. And whilst her two black slaves were busy
dressing her, she cried--

"What will they say when they see that I have a monk of the Thebaid for
my lover?"

THE BANQUET

When, followed by Paphnutius, Thais entered the banqueting-room, the
guests were already, for the most part, assembled, and reclining
on their couches before the horseshoe table, which was covered with
glittering vessels. In the centre of the table stood a silver basin,
surmounted by four figures of satyrs, who poured out from wine-skins
on the boiled fish a kind of pickle in which they floated. When Thais
appeared, acclamations arose from all sides.

Greetings to the sister of the Graces!

To the silent Melpomene, who can express all things with her looks!

Salutation to the well-beloved of gods and men!

To the much desired!

To her who gives suffering and its cure!

To the pearl of Racotis!

To the rose of Alexandria!

She waited impatiently till this torrent of praise had passed, and then
said to Cotta, the host--

"Lucius, I h