y of putting him down courteously at some stopping-place; and
instead of being grateful for his friendship, one was vexed with him for
disappointing one. We must speak more of these things. I seem to feel
the want of something commoner and broader in my thoughts; but in this
place it is hard to change."

"Will you forgive me then," I said, "if I ask you plainly what this
place is? It seems very strange to me, and yet I think I have been here
before."

Charmides looked at me with a smile. "It has been called," he said, "by
many ugly names, and men have been unreasonably afraid of it. It is the
place of satisfied desire, and, as you see, it is a comfortable place
enough. The theologians in their coarse way call it Hell, though that is
a word which is forbidden here; it is indeed a sort of treason to use
the word, because of its unfortunate association--and you can see with
your own eyes that I have done wrong even to speak of it."

I looked round, and saw indeed that a visible tremor had fallen on the
groups about us; it was as though a cold cloud, full of hail and
darkness, had floated over a sunny sky. People were hurrying out of the
garden, and some were regarding us askance and with frowns of
disapproval. In a moment or two we were left alone.

"I have been indiscreet," said Charmides, "but I feel somehow in a
rebellious mood; and indeed it has long seemed absurd to me that you
should be unaware of the fact, and so obviously guileless! But I will
speak no more of this to-day. People come and go here very strangely,
and I have sometimes wondered if it would not soon be time for me to go;
but it would be idle to pretend that I have not been happy here."

XI

What Charmides had told me filled me with great astonishment; it seemed
to me strange that I had not perceived the truth before. It made me feel
that I had somehow been wasting time. I was tempted to call Amroth to my
side, but I remembered what he had said, and I determined to resist the
impulse. I half expected to find that our strange talk, and the very
obvious disapproval of our words, had made some difference to me. But it
was not the case. I found myself treated with the same smiling welcome
as before, and indeed with an added kind of gentleness, such as older
people give to a child who has been confronted with some hard fact of
life, such as a sorrow or an illness. This in a way disconcerted me; for
in the moment when I had perceived the truth,