o gods, and he plunged into a rambling explanation of his position,
which would have lasted forever, unless Agias had cut him short with a
merry gibe, and told him that he must positively come to a tavern and
enjoy at least one beaker of good Massic in memory of old friendship.
And Pisander, whose spareness of living arose more from a lack of
means than from a philosophic aversion to food and good cheer, was
soon seated on a bench in one of the cheap restaurants[91] that
abounded in the city, balancing a very large goblet, and receiving a
volley of questions which Agias was discharging about Valeria's
eccentricities, Calatinus's canvass, Arsinoe, Semiramis, and the rest
of the household of which he had been a member.

[91] _Popinae_.

"But you haven't told me, Agias," finally interrupted the poor
philosopher, who had been struggling in turn to satisfy his curiosity,
"how you are here, and not--ugh! I hate to think of it--feeding the
dogs and the crows."

Agias's face grew grave while he gave the story of his release by the
Vestal, and subsequent transfer of ownership.

"What was the name of the young man who purchased you, eh?"
interpolated Pisander. "I didn't get it."

"Quintus Livius Drusus," replied Agias.

"Who?" cried the philosopher, starting up.

"Quintus Drusus, of Praeneste," repeated the other.

"_Ai! Ai!_ In the name of Zeus!" cried Pisander, dropping the beaker,
and spilling the wine all over his threadbare himation. "Oh, such a
plot! Such a crime! Was ever anything so villanous ever heard of
before!"

"My dear Pisander," exclaimed Agias, all amazement, "what _is_ the
matter? Your speech is as obscure as Cinna's[92] poem called 'Zmyrna,'
which I've heard was ten years in being written, and must be very
fine, because no one can understand it. No more can I fathom you."

[92] A poet at that time of some little reputation.

"What a stroke of fortune!" raved the philosopher. "How we will be
revenged on that rascal, Pratinas! O Destiny, thy decrees are just!"

Again Agias expostulated, and at last brought out of Pisander a
tolerably coherent account of the conversation which he had heard
between Valeria and Pratinas. Then, indeed, the merry slave-boy was
troubled. Accustomed to a rather limited ambition in life, he had
attached himself with implicit devotion to Cornelia; first because his
preserver, Drusus, had so enjoined him, and second because each day he
grew more drawn to her personally. T