ck with
some old man; and as flowers were not to be had, messengers were sent to
the town to buy them, with vine-wreaths and other greenery.

They were easily procured, and with them came the news that the races
were to be held next morning.

This information was regarded by many as being of the first importance;
Nicarchus, the son of the rich Hippocleides, and Zenodotus a weaver of
tapestry--whose quadriga had once proved victorious--hastily made their
way into the town to give the requisite orders in their stables, and they
were closely followed by Hippias, the handsome agitator, who was the
favorite driver in the arena for the horses belonging to wealthy owners.
In the train of these three every lover of horses vanished from the
scene, with a number of Hippias' friends, and of flower-sellers,
door-keepers, and ticket-holders-in short, of all who expected to derive
special pleasure or profit from the games. Each man reflected that one
could not be missed, and as the god was favorably disposed he might
surely contrive to defend his own temple till after the races were over;
they would then return to conquer or die with the rest.

Then some others began to think of wives and children in bed at home, and
they, too, departed; still, by far the larger proportion remained
behind--above three thousand in all, men and women. These at once
possessed themselves of the half-emptied wine-jars left by the deserters;
gay music was got up, and then, wreathed with garlands on their heads and
shoulders, and 'filled with the god' they drank, shouted and danced far
into the night. The merry feast soon became a wild orgy; loud cries of
Evoe, and tumultuous singing reached the ears of the Magians, who had
once more settled down to calculations and discussions over their rolls
and tablets.

The mother of the youth that had been killed still sat huddled at the
foot of the statue of justice, enduring the anguish of listening to these
drunken revels with dull resignation. Every shout of laughter, every
burst of mad mirth from the revellers above cut her to the heart--and
yet, how they would have gladdened her if only one other voice could have
mingled with those hundreds! When Olympius, still in his fullest dress,
and carrying his head loftily as became him, made his way through the
temple at the head of his subordinates, he noticed Berenice--whom he had
known as a proud and happy mother--and begged her to join the friends
whom he had bid