out as much to me. He has fitted out an armament for Ostia, stopped
his own wheat-ships, and is going to write to you to stop yours, and to
starve out the Eternal City, Goths, senate, emperor, and all. Whether
you will comply with his reasonable little request depends of course on
yourself.'

'And that again very much on his plans.'

'Of course. You cannot be expected to--we will euphemise-unless it be
made worth your while.'

Orestes sat buried in deep thought.

'Of course not,' said he at last, half unconsciously. And then, in
sudden dread of having committed himself, he looked up fiercely at the
Jew.

'And how do I know that this is not some infernal trap of yours? Tell me
how you found out all this, or by Hercules (he had quite forgotten his
Christianity by this time)--by Hercules and the Twelve Gods, I'll--'

'Don't use expressions unworthy of a philosopher. My source of
information was very simple and very good. He has been negotiating a
loan from the Rabbis at Carthage. They were either frightened, or loyal,
or both, and hung back. He knew--as all wise governors know when they
allow themselves time--that it is no use to bully a Jew; slid applied to
me. I never lend money--it is unphilosophical: but I introduced him to
old Miriam, who dare do business with the devil himself; and by that
move, whether he has the money or not, I cannot tell: but this I can
tell, that we have his secret--and so have you now; and if you want more
information, the old woman, who enjoys an intrigue as much as she does
Falernian, will get it you.'

'Well, you are a true friend, after all.'

'Of course I am. Now, is not this method of getting at the truth much
easier and pleasanter than setting a couple of dirty negroes to pinch
and pull me, and so making it a point of honour with me to tell you
nothing but lies? Here comes Ganymede with the wine, just in time to
calm your nerves, and fill you with the spirit of divination.... To the
goddess of good counsels, my lord. What wine this is!'

'True Syrian--fire and honey; fourteen years old next vintage, my
Raphael. Out, Hypocorisma! See that he is not listening. The impudent
rascal! I was humbugged into giving two thousand gold pieces for him
two years ago, he was so pretty--they said he was only just rising
thirteen--and he has been the plague of my life ever since, and is
beginning to want the barber already. Now, what is the count dreaming
of?'

'His wages for killing Stilich